Broken Wings of Black
by Silence Leaflin
Summary: After Ygritte shoots Jon Snow full of arrows, he escapes with his life. Bound for Castle Black, Jon struggles with doubt and regret. Unable to shake the notion that Ygritte may be carrying his child, Jon returns to her to learn the truth: she is. What does this mean for them both? Do they have a future together? Can she ever forgive him for betraying her? Can they truly be free?


**Broken Wings of Black**

_(Ygritte + Jon Snow fan fiction story)_

**Fragment I – Shot Full of Arrows (Jon)**

_The pain… Seven hells, this pain!_

It was searing, burning hot and fierce like fire. Jon could feel each one of Ygritte's arrows lodged inside him, the stiff and foreign shafts shifting around unnaturally within his body as he moved. One had pierced his lung, he knew. He struggled to breathe as he halted his horse. Slumping over onto the beast's back, he tried to stop himself from shaking, to no avail.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing as the world spun around him. His hearing failed. A loud, disturbing ringing sound replaced it. His heart raced and his body went suddenly cold. Sweat broke out over every inch of him, making him even colder. When he opened his eyes, everything around him seemed to burst with white light from every angle, causing him to squint. He could barely see anything, and when he tried to turn his head, he became instantly dizzy and nauseated.

Although his mind was clear, his body was suffering a terrible shock. Willing it to calm itself, he concentrated on his breathing – _slowly, in and out, push through the pain, don't cough, you'll make it worse, you cannot lose consciousness_ – until he felt his heart begin to slow. The ringing in his ears subsided and he could hear the wind rustling over the grasses again. He opened his eyes and watched the white light fade from everything until he saw colors again. The world stopped spinning, and he ventured to sit up. He was soaked with sweat. His hair clung to his face and neck.

Jon thought that the cuts, scrapes, slices, bruises, stiffness and aching of training for the Night's Watch had caused him the worst pain of his life, but being shot full of arrows was far worse. _I might die. I've never suffered wounds like these before. This pain is surreal._ _The worst. No… no, not the worst…_

A lump rose in his throat as he recalled Ygritte's face when he rode away from her in the driving rain. He had only looked back once – and briefly at that – and yet the look of her just then would be forever etched in his mind. Her wide eyes, both questioning and furious, the tremble of her lips, and the shadows the stormy weather had cast on her… he felt responsible for them all. She looked so tired then, so weary, and yet also ready for anything. _She had been ready to stand by me – to betray her own kin – for my sake, and I pushed her to the ground like she had been just another face amongst tavern rabble. I did it to protect her, but that look on her face… _

He tried to concentrate on surviving, on getting back to the Wall to warn the Night's Watch of the wildling invasion, but he thought instead of his most recent encounter with Ygritte. It was one that he had prepared himself for, over and over again in his mind, since he left the wildlings. He knew Ygritte would not just let him go, not without consequences. In his mind, she had been his enemy, a capable warrior who would be set on killing him. He could be strong, for he had no choice. The Night's Watch was depending on him. Qhorin Halfhand gave his life so that Jon might learn of Mance Rayder's plans. There was no choice. In the end, she would be loyal to her people as he was loyal to the Night's Watch. _That is where the honor of soldiers lies._ For just a moment, when they met by the pond, he felt resolve and strength well up inside him. _It's hard, Ygritte, but this is how it must be. You understand that, surely…_

But Ygritte had not understood at all. The anger on her face melted away so quickly when he said he loved her, and he caught a glimpse of her pain – _all the pain I caused her_ – even as she drew it back inside herself once more. He wanted her to be enraged, to curse him and spit on him, for that he could muster up a resistance to. To see her hurting so badly, though, brokenhearted and betrayed – _and crying… Ygritte hardly ever cries_ – that was something he could not bear.

With each new word he spoke, her pain grew even more insistent, forcing its way out of her in the form of tears and trembling lips and the flush of red heat in her otherwise pale cheeks. He was so sure he could see her as an enemy, for that was what she was now. He told himself that so many times he believed he had convinced himself of the lie. Before him then, exuding all the resentment and aching and regret that he had brought into her life, she looked nothing like how an enemy should. _She's a wildling, my enemy, an enemy of the Night's Watch, a soldier in Mance's army. She's… my lover… the first and only… the cause of the warmest and deepest love I have ever known. All my life I've wanted to be loved and accepted. Ygritte loved me. The free folk accepted me. I threw it all back at them. I threw it all away. I _had_ to._

Tears had flooded his eyes the moment Ygritte began shooting at him. Just as he had been certain he could view her as an enemy when he needed to, he had been equally as certain that she would never actually harm him. _Why not, Jon? What made you believe that? You broke her heart and killed her comrades in the name of duty to your already-broken Night's Watch vows. What made you think Ygritte did not have the same fierce loyalty inside her to do the same? But I… I would never… _ever_… have hurt you, Ygritte._

_But I did, didn't I?_ he scolded himself just then. _Just because her wounds don't bleed does not mean they don't exist._ She had hurt him with far more than her arrows when she chose to do him harm, but his feelings of betrayal were short-lived. _Haven't I done the same to her?_

Even that was not what made the worst of his guilt bubble up inside him, violent and angry like molten steel. _She didn't kill me, and she could have. I _know_ she could have. But she didn't._ He tried to tell himself that her emotions had affected her aim, that her hands had been shaking every bit as much as her lips, but he knew better. _Her hands were steady and true, as they always are. She could have killed me. I don't know much, Ygritte would be the first to say, but I know that at least._

He swallowed and turned slowly to look around him, nearly retching from the pain. He blinked repeatedly, trying desperately to stay awake. _Wait, I recognize this land…_ He turned his head stiffly in a different direction. _Yes, I know where I am now. _He turned the horse toward Castle Black, but did not urge it onward. _Six times they've invaded. Six times the wildlings have tried to breach the Wall, and they failed. The seventh will be the same. Isn't that what I told Ygritte? So what will my words to the Watch matter? The wildlings will fail, or with my words they will fail more absolutely. Victory is not in the stars for them. How sure am I of that? As sure as I had been that Ygritte would not loose those arrows on me?_

He sighed, feeling the arrows in his back and shoulder dig even deeper into his flesh. Reaching behind him, he broke their shafts as another wave of nausea overcame him. Fighting it, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and fists. Then he spit blood onto the grass, staring at its red color. _Her hair had seemed so plain, less red than before. In the rain, it had looked almost black. It was dull again when I saw her out on the plains, as if all her fire had been stolen. I would have been the first one to say that I'd never let anyone do that to her, and now I've done it to her myself. The Wall will remain as it always has. My words will matter little._

_Qhorin Halfhand died for this, _he reminded himself. _You have a duty to the North, to your vows, to the Watch, and to the Old Gods. You swore before them. They're watching you._ He looked up at the sky, as if it held the gods' eyes peering down on him. _And then you broke your oath and took her. Don't lie to yourself, Jon. It was not done for any ruse or to protect yourself or to gain any sort of trust. Perhaps it helped those things, but that was not what finally made you do it. You wanted her. You loved the way she smiled and laughed and looked and smelled… and you _wanted_ her. _That_ was why you broke your vows. You've lied once before the gods when you swore your vows, don't lie again now. What would your father think of you if he were alive still?_

He swallowed hard and tasted forehead was damp and cold with sweat, and his head ached. _The Wall will remain. All your words will do is make the wildlings' defeat that much more total and absolute. More of them will die. Is that what you want?_

…_but if you don't help the Watch, more of _them_ will die. Your friends. Grenn and Pyp and the others. If they died when you could have saved them, could you live with that on your conscience?_

He shivered now. _If Ygritte was killed… could you live with that? _But just then he smiled._ Ygritte won't let them kill her. She's too smart for that. Too quick. Too skilled. They'll take her prisoner, probably, and-_

His smile left him._ And… what? Mock her. Beat her. Rape her. Starve her. Deny her the freedom she's fought all her life to maintain. Could you stand by and watch Ygritte be confined to a cell, restless and enraged like a caged animal? Could you watch another man – or _many men_ – violate the woman you love? You know the answer to that already, but when you so much as say a single word in her defense, they'll lock you up too and execute you for a traitor._

_The Wall will stand as it always has. Days, weeks, months, years… centuries from now, the Wall will remain. _

_What I had with Ygritte was more than just a ruse. Does she know that? Or does she now mull over every detail of it, wondering if it had all been a lie? Does she ask herself if I was being deceitful when I was holding her, kissing her, making love to her? How many times did I have her? How many more times had I wanted her? Her smiles and playfulness and the amazing heat that poured off her body when I held her against me, skin to skin… they had all been born of a love I was too distant to share with her. She was giving me all of herself and I was holding back. I choked when she kissed me. Stared blankly when she smiled at me. Stiffened when she pressed against me. Gods, Jon, could you not have given of your own heart when she was bearing hers for you? Ruse or no, could you not have showed her that you genuinely cared for her aside from all else? Could you not have shown her your love was real?_

_What would my father do? He would go back to the Wall as duty demands. He would never have loved Ygritte in the first place, or if he did, he would never have touched her. _Yet, in that moment of introspection, Jon could not ignore his own origins. His father had been unfaithful to his stepmother once. He always used his father as an example of honor, the standard to which he should always hold himself, but even Ned Stark had faltered once. _After he did, he claimed me properly, took care of me and raised me when other lords cast their bastards aside. For all my wanting of a more normal upbringing, I had one of the best a bastard could expect to have. Even so, I never want to bring another bastard into the world. Never._

The thought almost stopped his heart. _How many times have I had Ygritte? Did she bleed during the last cycle of the moon? I don't remember. No, she told me about the moon tea the wildling women make. She wouldn't be so foolish as to let me get her with child when there's war on the horizon. But… the moon tea was where all the other herbs and medicines were and that was back at camp. It was in their _main_ camp, with the women and children and midwives and sages. Did she take any of it with her? What is it made from? Could she find the components out here, south of the Wall where she does not know the land?_

His breathing quickened, heightening his pain. _Ygritte isn't with child. I'd have noticed. Although… why did she hunch over so far when we first started to battle at the windmill? Why did she lay her bow down over herself like that? Why did she twist in Tormund's arms to face away from him as he tried to hold her back, and when he reached around to hold her waist, why did she bite his hand so desperately? Was her hand on her belly as I rode away? Seven hells, I'm making things up, just like Old Nan when she'd tell us stories as children! She's not with child. She's not!_

…_but if there's any chance at all that she is…_

He looked back from where he came. _She isn't following me, or else she doesn't want me to know I'm being followed. Would she kill me if she found me? Maybe. I don't know her anymore. The funny, warm, playful Ygritte I knew died when I left her. I have a duty to the Night's Watch. Ride on._

_I've a duty to any child I father, as well, _he had to admit._ My own father dishonored himself when he took my mother, and then again when he brought me home to Catelyn. For years he suffered the shame his infidelity had brought him, and he did it all for me. If there's any chance… any at all… then I have to do what is right by my child, regardless of the shame it brings me. Do I ride to the Wall because it's the right thing to do, or because I am not willing to damn my own honor as my father did to properly care for and protect those I love? This righteous cause I ride toward, is it more selfish than selfless?_

_You tell yourself she won't die fighting the Watch, but if she did, could you live with it?_

_You tell yourself that she's not carrying your child, but if she was, could you abandon your own blood? _

_Are you willing to take the chance that Ygritte is carrying your child and that she dies at Castle Black for the sake of few words about Mance's plans that won't change the wildlings' imminent defeat anyway?_

Jon tugged at the reins of his horse and drew the animal back around, back toward fear and shame and a shred of hope that Ygritte would forgive him. Looking up to the sky, he begged forgiveness of the Old Gods, his father's gods, knowing full well that they would not grant it.

**Fragment II – Wounded Pride (Ygritte)**

She could not let them see her like this.

Some of her comrades had wanted to organize a search party to find her errant Crow lover and kill him. They wanted to avenge Orell and the others. They wanted to stop their plans from reaching the ears of Crows at Castle Black. Ygritte had stood in their way, forced to endure their hot, acrid breath on her face as they pressed her and stared her down. They smelled like a steer's worst end half the time and like a corpse the other half. Not a one of them bothered to bathe very often. Ygritte did not want to think about baths. The last decent one she had was with Jon Snow in the grotto.

_Jon Snow's mine. I'll do for 'im meself,_ she had growled. They did not scare her. They were all wind and no meaning with their words. Grinning patronizingly at her, they backed off, giving her until the end of the day to do the deed. Tormund looked on, a disappointed, fatherly expression on his face, and when she finally did set out to track the man who had stolen her, used her, and then betrayed her, Tormund held her back with a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't go alone," he said with that serious and wise tone she hated whenever it was directed at her. The majority of the times Tormund sought to offer her wisdom were times she did not want – or could not bear – to listen.

"An' why not?" Ygritte said, feeling her cheeks flush immediately with hot shame. Her bottom lip had trembled when she spoke and Tormund had noticed it.

"_Tha's _why," he said with an air of solemn seriousness, pointing to it. "It needs doin', but not by you. You're too close to 'im."

His tone was kind, almost sympathetic. He understood that she loved Jon Snow still. That infuriated her.

"_No_ one… but _me_," Ygritte said through gritted teeth. "Get out o' my way."

He did, and she stormed off, full of purpose and rage.

_Warnin' shot high an' t'the left. Too far right t'do nothin' to 'im._ _Another t'the leg._ She had knocked a fourth arrow, but that one she shot angrily into the sky, high above Jon Snow and his horse. She was distraught… and angry.

_Angry 'cause I didn't kill 'im._

_ Angry 'cause I wouldn't._

_ Angry 'cause I can't._

_ Angry 'cause no mess o' arrows'll make 'im feel th'heights o' my pain._

She sat alone now on a small rock out on the hilly grasslands, alone, trembling and crying, ashamed of how exposed and vulnerable the Crow had left her. _Tha's what 'e is. Tha's what 'e always was. Gods, you're dumb, girl. It was right there in front o' ya th'whole time. You knew it, too, but you let it go 'cause you loved 'im. You let it go 'cause you thought 'e might betray th'others but not you. He'd always be loyal t'you, you thought. You were dumb as shit t'think such._

_ He'll 'ave a good laugh at you when 'e reaches Castle Black. He'll tell all his little Crow friends how 'e fucked a dumb-as-shit wildling girl an' then left 'er. He'll tell 'em all th'details. How easy 't'was t'get you t'offer yourself to 'im. What you looked like unclothed. How flushed you grew when he'd kiss you all over. How you sighed an' moaned for 'im when he was inside you. _

She rammed her fist down on the rock, feeling shoots of pain rush up the length of her arm. The heel of her hand was bleeding when she lifted it, but she did nothing to bind the cut. She merely watched the blood drip from it. Down onto the rock it fell, dripping over its side and into the grass. Her teeth clenched together so hard her jaw ached from it. _Collect yourself, fool girl. These tears've got t'be gone before they see you 'r you'll be th'laughin' stock o' them, too._

_They'll not see any o' my pain. I'm done 'urtin'. Time t'kill some Crows at Castle Black. It's over. I'll not look back. _She picked up her bow and put on her quiver with a mind to head back to camp, but then she did just that… she looked back. There was something on the horizon. A horse. Not just any horse.

_Bastard thinks he can come back 'ere? He _dares_ to? You know nothin', Jon Snow._

Angrily, she ran toward him, sprinting until she could squat before a set of three boulders nearby. Doing so, she knocked an arrow, drew back her bowstring, and aimed at the mound of furs lying near the horse. She must have held that arrow at the ready for an eternity. The mound did not move. Loosening the tension in the bowstring, she crept slowly closer.

Looking all around, she did not see anyone else. _No one but a horse an' a Crow._ The latter did not move even when she was upon him, bearing down on him with an arrow aimed at his head. She held her position, assuming he would move. Her heart began to beat faster. She could not see him breathe. Angry that she cared that much for him even now that she would curl all four of her fingers around the bowstring tightly so as not to accidentally loose the arrow, she pursed her lips and clenched her teeth. When he still did not move after all that time, she kicked him in his rump. He groaned and his eyes opened.

"_Bastard!"_ Ygritte said, viciously. She knew he hated the word. "How _dare_ you come back, _Crow_!"

He smiled at her, just like he had back there, by the pond and the reeds and the rock with her blood on it. _Don't you dare, Crow. Don't you _dare.

Very soon, his smile left him._ I'm sorry,_ he mouthed. His eyes were sad and apologetic. Ygritte's rage peaked.

"I don't care to 'ear your sorries," she said in a voice that sounded weaker than she liked.

"Forgive me," Jon Snow now forced out into a whisper. "Please."

The tears came again, and she hated herself for them. _He's still lyin' t'you, girl. Don't fall for it now._

"I came back… for you…" he said. "For…"

Ygritte quickly backed away from him when his eyes lowered to her belly. Trying to keep her expression in check, she could not prevent her upper lip from twitching, her eyes from looking around nervously. _No, 'e doesn't know. He can't know. Don't let 'im know._ She rushed back to him and aimed the arrow at his head again with renewed fervor.

"Ygritte… are you…?" he asked, shocked by her reaction.

"_Shut up, Crow!"_ she shouted, kicking him again. Her voice was raspy with heartache but angry and bitter all the same. She hated him so much and yet she loved him, too. She had only to look in his eyes to know that. Lowering her bow, she threw it to the ground, disgusted with herself.

"…are you…?"

The Crow would not lie silently. She went to him and grabbed a fistful of his curly, black hair. She used to love to run her fingers through that hair. "I don't answer t'Crows!" she yelled, almost snarling with her lips just a short distance from his.

"I'm… sorry… I hurt you," he said, grimacing. He shifted a little, clearly in pain. "I _love_ you. That part of it… was always real…"

"Yeah?" Ygritte asked with annoyance, her jaw jutting to the side. "Well, it ain't real no more, Jon Snow."

But she was too close to him now. He reached out and grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away but his grip was strong as iron. She drew her fletching knife and pressed it to his throat. That made him let go of her.

"Touch me again an' I'll kill ya," she whispered with a vitriolic tone.

"I came back… for-" he started, but she was already yelling at him again.

"For what? There's nothin' 'ere! Nothin' an' no one for _you_, that is. You all but told me t'fuck off. D'ya not remember that? Has pain addled your mind so that ya don't remember shamin' me in front o' my kin? What am I, 'ere for your entertainment, Jon Snow? Ya fight me off you an' then pull me back, as if I've no sense in me 'ead't all t'think for meself?! I'm not your _plaything_, Crow. You _used_ me. I don't forget th'ones that _use_ me. You 'ad your fun. Now it's done wit'." She retrieved her bow and arrow and stood over him. "Ya should 'ave run when you 'ad th'chance." She drew back the bowstring. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't finish what I started…"

He was quiet for a while, and that made her angrier. She lowered the arrow even closer to him. When a small whimpering sound escaped her, her anger bubbled over. "_Speak_, Crow!"

"Leaving you… was… the worst… mistake… I've ever made…" he forced out before a fit of coughing that sprayed blood on his face and neck, "and I've… made… a lot…of… them."

Ygritte could not hold her bow anymore, she was so upset, and she did not want him to see her hands and arms shake. His eyes closed and he looked to be in so much agony. Suddenly she was so deeply sorry for wounding him, even so filled with sorrow and rage such as she was. She loosened her grip on her bow and it slipped from her hands, falling down by his feet. Unable to fight her own emotion, she trembled all over. She walked away to sit alone until she could harness her composure once more, unwilling to expose any more of her heart to him.

The arrow lodged in his lung had been the hardest to remove. She was terrified that he would die, either from blood loss or from suffocation. When she had bound his wounds – _even th'scratches Orell's eagle gave 'im on 'is pretty face _– as best she could with her limited resources, she took him into her arms and held him from behind, tilting him upwards so he would not drown in his own blood. He was either asleep or unconscious, and Ygritte was no healer. She could not very well take Jon back to the others, however. _How do I explain this t'them? Tormund'll say I'm foolish. An' 'e'll want Jon dead._

He was feverish by nightfall, but the air grew colder as it always did. She hoped the chill of the night would ease his fever. Ygritte could not bear the sounds he made in his wounded state. The gasping, the wheezing, the groaning, the whimpering… they made her heart ache. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to be able to cut his throat right then and leave him. Life would be so much easier for her if she could just manage to do it. All she could do, however, was sit and tremble… and admit that she loved him. _Damn you, Jon Snow. Damn you for makin' me love you so much it hurts._

When her band came upon them, Ygritte stood protectively over Jon's body with her bow at the ready. Her stare was solid, determined… daring them to approach her.

**Fragment III – Convalescence (Jon)**

Jon did not know where he was when he woke, but he was warm and his pain had lessened considerably, at least until he went to move. He blinked in confusion as he looked up. Lying on his back and tilting his head upwards, he saw Ygritte. On her face was a serene look of pensiveness as she idly watched the other members of her band around them. Something else she did idly was slowly and gently stroke Jon's forehead from the bridge of his nose back across his hair. Over and over, she did this. He could feel her rough hand, made so by the hard work of daily survival, and it felt wonderful to him simply because it was hers. He did not realize he was crying until he closed his eyes and felt the hot tears trickle down the sides of his face and grow ice cold by the time they reached his ears. Her touch had moved him deeply. It eased his pain, even the invisible sort not caused by her arrows.

The cuts Orell's eagle had left on his face did not throb anymore, despite that Ygritte's hand kept grazing them. He supposed that she had treated them with something. The wildlings had a number of remedies, poultices, and salves that reduced pain. They were not only used for healing but also so that their members could travel and fight while wounded. Their intimate knowledge of the North – of its land, its wildlife, its vegetation – never ceased to amaze him.

When he opened his eyes again, she was still unaware that he was awake. He would have said something, if he knew what to say. His guilt caught in his throat and held his tongue. Ygritte sighed then, drawing in a deep breath ever so slowly and letting it seep out of her at much the same pace. He realized her bow was beside her, as was her quiver. By the look of the minimal light in the sky, he guessed that it was early morning, just before sunrise. The sun's rays were peaking up over the horizon. Ygritte's eyelids fell a little and her head bobbed. Snapping it back up again, she widened her eyes and blinked away her exhaustion. The gentle furrow in her brow, the lack of focus in her eyes, they told Jon just how tired she was. _Has she been sitting vigil over me all night?_

"Enough," Jon heard behind them. He recognized the voice.

"What?" Ygritte asked bitterly.

Tormund came around before them, glanced at Jon, and then frowned sourly at Ygritte. "You need your rest, tha's what."

"I'll rest later," she said looking away from him as if her words had ended their conversation already. _She sounds so tired._

"You'll rest _now_," he insisted. "We've a full day's march ahead of us."

"I can't," she said, lowering her voice. She looked at the other wildlings around them.

"You _can_ an' you _will_," Tormund said with a fatherly seriousness.

_"I can't right now!"_ Ygritte protested, but Tormund was already sitting down on a rock near them.

_"Down,"_ he said with authority. He pointed at the earth emphatically. "_Now._ You're no good to us without any sleep. You're no good to _'im_, neither."

"If 'e dies, 'e dies," Ygritte said dismissively, shrugging.

"You're not foolin' me wit' that posturin' o' yours," he said. "Sleep. _Now._ I'll keep watch."

"Why?" she threw back, challenging him with a haughty air. "Why would you do that?"

"You're goin' t'_argue _wit' me?!" he asked, aggravated. He stared her down and Jon thought he saw Ygritte look just a tiny bit afraid. _Afraid or ashamed, maybe…"_Lie _down_, Ygritte."

She held her defiant pose and expression for a time, but Jon had noticed over the past few months that Ygritte respected Tormund a great deal. He was the only one who could talk to her in that manner without getting an arrow through his eye, and the only one she would take orders from aside from Mance Rayder. She slid Jon off of her lap and laid him against the rock she had been leaning against. He could not keep from clenching his teeth as she did so, shifting a little so that the bumps of the rock's hard surface did not press against his sensitive wounds. She curled up next to him, pulling up her fur-lined hood and drawing her thick coat tightly around her face and neck. Just as she might have closed her eyes, she noticed him looking at her.

"What're ya _starin'_ at, _Crow?!_" she snapped, rolling over to face away from him.

He wished he could take everything back. He wished he had never betrayed her trust in the first place, but she had bound his wounds and gone without sleep to watch over him, that had to mean something. She had held him and caressed his forehead. Regardless of her anger, he knew she loved him still. Her actions told him so, even if her words were still furious and full of pain. It comforted him to know she still cared, but also made him a little sad. _She's right to be so angry._

Tormund began to sharpen one of his blades, a broad, curved short sword of sorts. The sound of it caught Jon's attention. Their eyes met, and it was Jon who looked away first. With eyes cast downward, he swallowed hard. He waited for Tormund to say something, but all the large and imposing wildling did was watch. Jon remembered when he met Tormund. At first he had thought him to be the King Beyond the Wall and knelt before him and called him "your majesty." He still remembered the look on Tormund's face, a mixture of confusion and arrogant amusement. He remembered, too, the sound of Ygritte's laughter while he was down on his knee, the beautiful smile on her face as she mocked him. Mance had called Tormund a chicken-eater, and they laughed some more. Jon had been so mortified at the time. Now he longed for it all… the playfulness, the joking, the acceptance they offered him so readily in just a short time when his own stepmother had taken all his life to give him none. _I've gone and made everything different now. I've made myself an outsider, of the sort who will never be permitted on the inside again._

After a time, Jon heard Ygritte breathing loudly and regularly, deeply asleep already. As soon as he heard it, Tormund finally spoke.

"She guarded you th'whole night through," he said, trying to keep his voice low. "She drew 'er bow 'gainst 'er own t'keep 'em back from you."

Jon said nothing. He knew he would not help himself if he did.

"She's lost nearly all respect, takin' you back after you turned on us an' killed our warg. You didn't jus' betray us, you left us _blind_," he said, his voice becoming steadily bitterer. "If not for me," he looked down at his blade and swept the hard stone over the edge of it, "you'd be dead right now, an' maybe… she'd be dead along wit' you."

"Thank you," Jon whispered without thinking.

"I'm not lookin' for thank yous from Crows, boy," Tormund said. Jon shivered a bit. Tormund's tone was calm and almost gentle. It was not at all what he would expect, given the man's words and what he surely must think of Jon at that moment.

"What _are_ you looking for?" Jon whispered.

He was quiet for a long while, so much so that Jon thought that Tormund had ignored his question. He listened to Ygritte breathe, remembering the times he had felt her breath so close to his ear when they had fallen asleep together after making love under all their furs at night.

"D'you remember what I said t'you about lyin' t'me?" he asked.

"You said you'd pull my guts out through my throat," Jon said without hesitation.

Tormund nodded slowly, stared long at him. "I'm not doin' this for you," he said. "I'm doin' it for _'er._" He nodded once towards Ygritte. "I care a lot less that you lied t'me an' ev'ryone else 'ere than I do that you lied to _'er._ I want you t'understand what you've done, 'cause I thought you were a smart boy, but after what you did, I'm startin' t'agree wit' 'er that you know nothin't all."

Jon would have given anything to hear Ygritte tell him that he knew nothing right then. It had frustrated and provoked him on so many occasions, but now he ached to hear her say it just once more.

"You _shamed_ 'er. _Embarrassed_ 'er. Made 'er th'_fool_ in front of all of us. An' even then she would 'ave gone wit' you, if I 'ad let 'er go. She'd 'ave gone wit' you an' _damned_ 'erself," Tormund said, slowly and carefully, staring at him unblinkingly. "But th'_worst_ is… you broke 'er_ trust _an' 'er _'eart._ She didn't _deserve_ that, boy, not after all she's done for you."

Tormund's eyes were so serious, so chastising, but Jon did not need to hear his words to know they were the truth. He knew full well that Ygritte had not deserved to have her heart broken. He never meant to do that to her. The lump in Jon's throat threatened to choke him. He fought to maintain eye contact with Tormund, almost punishing himself by paying close attention to his words.

"She could 'ave killed you," Tormund said.

"I know that," Jon whispered, but the words caught in his throat a little. _You know nothin', Jon Snow._ He could swear he heard her saying it, even in her sleep.

"In my opinion, she _should_ 'ave," he said. "Think about all th'pain you're in right now, an' be glad for it. You could be feelin' nothin't all. Be glad she loves you, even now. An' if you think she doesn't, take another breath, 'cause from now on ev'ry one you take is one she _permitted_ you to 'ave."

Conscious of it now, Jon drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was in pain, but he was alive. _By her leave, that's what he's saying. Maybe he's right._

"Th'day she stops _protectin'_ you… th'day she stops _lovin'_ you… th'day she decides your sorry hide's not worth 'er _time_ no more… is th'day your _guts come out your throat. _I'll grip your 'ead, grease me 'and up real good, reach right down inside, an' pull you inside-out from _groin t'gullet. _Are you _'earin'_ me?"

Jon nodded.

"Good," Tormund said sharply, and then he fell silent.

It was maddening to sit there tensely before Tormund, occasionally meeting his strong and judgmental stare. Jon watched the other wildlings around him as they discussed the upcoming battle at Castle Black, devoured meat from their most recent hunting excursions, and prepared the camp to move again. He needed questions answered about Ygritte, but broaching the subject with Tormund was more than just a little awkward. Most of all in that moment, however, he was thirsty. He was mortified by how long it took him to muster up the courage to speak to Tormund and by how weak his voice sounded when he finally did.

"May I have some water?" he asked.

Tormund's eyes shot up from his work. One eyebrow rose with affront.

"Please?" Jon added. He dropped his eyes for a moment, supposing that a bit of humility might be what the wildling was looking for.

Tormund set aside his blade and rose to fetch a skin of water. Just then, Jon felt something down by his left thigh, thankfully not the one that was wounded, bandaged, and sore. Ygritte had rolled over in her sleep. She let out a gentle, feminine sigh and curled her hands even closer to her, just under her chin. _She used to sigh like that for me when we made love. Now I'm lucky to hear her do it in her sleep,_ Jon mused. There was a slight furrow in her brow, but as she slipped away again into a calm slumber, it smoothed itself. Jon watched her face, wanting so much to hold her or at least lay his hand or arm on her shoulder. _Something. Anything._ He knew he should not do it. There was an unseen barrier between them now. Everything had to be on her terms. _Hadn't everything always been that way? Until I left her…_

He heard Tormund clear his throat behind him and, having been so engrossed in the subtleties of Ygritte's expression, he was not prepared for the sound. He jumped a little.

"_Scared,_ little boy?" Tormund asked, his slight accent very apparent with those particular words. Common was not Tormund's native tongue, despite his masterful command of it. His voice had an icy seriousness that did not fit with the playfulness of his words.

Jon's face flushed as he took the skin of water. "Thank you," he made himself say.

"Did you _bother_ 'er?" Tormund asked heatedly, noticing that Ygritte had changed her position.

"No. She turned in her sleep," Jon said.

Minimally accepting Jon's answer, he sat back down across from him. "I'll let 'er rest 'til we're 'bout ready t'move. Long as I can. It won't be near 'nough, but it'll 'ave t'do."

Jon nodded, though he did not know why. It was not as if Tormund had been addressing him necessarily. He looked back down at Ygritte. Her face was partially buried in the fur of her coat now.

"Tormund," Jon said, forcing himself to speak to the brooding wildling.

"Aye," he said suspiciously, not bothering to look up from his work.

"Ygritte… Did she ever say anything to you about…?" Jon asked, but the lump caught in his throat and forced him to stop.

"…about _what?_" he asked with annoyance.

"I thought maybe she'd confide in you, of all people," Jon said.

"Ygritte doesn't confide in anyone, least of all me," Tormund said. "She just can't slip nothin' by me 'cause I know 'er all too well."

"Then you would know," Jon said.

"Know what?" Tormund asked flatly.

"If she were…" Jon's heart was beating so wildly that he could barely breathe.

"Spit it out, boy. I'm not gettin' any younger an' neither're you," Tormund said, narrowing his eyes at him.

"If she were carrying a child," Jon said. "_My_ child." Saying the words nearly caused him to faint. There was a ringing in his ears and a hot flush came to his cheeks again. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing his heart to calm itself. His wounds began to throb. He realized then just how dire they were, for his body to react so violently to just a small amount of nervousness. _Is it really so small, though?_ When he opened his eyes again, Tormund was staring intently at him.

"You've been closer to 'er these past months than I've been," Tormund said. "You 'ad 'er nearly every damn night. _You_ tell _me_."

"How… am I supposed… to… _know_ that sort of thing?" Jon stammered. He was talking too much. His wounds were starting to ache so much that he could barely breathe.

"Well… 'ow many times when you 'ad 'er was she on th'rag?" Tormund asked.

"On _what_ rag?" Jon asked, scrunching up his nose in confusion.

Tormund rolled his eyes. "Gods alight…" he grumbled, shaking his head. "Are you 'ere on this earth wit' th'rest of us? Women _bleed_, boy. Once each turn o' th'moon."

"Yes, I know _that_," Jon said.

"Ah, so you _do_ know somethin'," Tormund said.

Jon sighed in frustration, even though it hurt. He shifted where he lay and new pain flowed through his body. He could also feel blood rushing to his limbs and his stiffness subsided a little. It was a small relief but a welcome one.

"You don't see women runnin' 'round wit' blood soakin' their skirts an' pants, now do you?" he asked.

Jon shook his head.

"Tha's because they're," and here he shoved his hand down by his crotch, lifted himself, and sat on it in an animated and yet peeved fashion, "_on the rag._ If you're too dumb an' blind t'notice if she bled at all while you were inside 'er, then you at least would 'ave noticed 'er cleanin' 'r discardin' all those bloody rags."

"I never saw her do anything like that," Jon said.

"Never?" Tormund asked.

"Never," Jon repeated.

"_I_ did," Tormund said.

Jon released the breath he was holding and started to relax.

"…but not since she's been wit' you," he added.

"What?" Jon asked immediately and desperately. "What does _that_ mean?" He truly felt as if he might lose consciousness. He let his mouth hang open has he gasped for air.

"It means it ain't my place t'confirm 'r deny anythin' where 'er private matters're concerned," Tormund said. "If you want t'know, ask _'er._"

"She wouldn't tell me!" Jon said almost frantically. He regretted it instantly. Bracing himself, he endured the wave of pain that resulted from his wounds being aggravated.

"Then she doesn't think you deserve t'know th'answer yet," Tormund said.

**Fragment IV – The Only Chance (Ygritte)**

"Ygritte…" It was Tormund's voice. He had a strong hand at her shoulder and was shaking her to rouse her. "Almost time t'move," he said. "Have some food before we go."

"I'm up," she said dutifully, as she had each morning for the past several months. He left her side, but although she sat up, she felt as if she could fall right back to sleep again. She looked around, finding her bow and quiver lying beside her. She also saw that Jon was awake and staring at her. She narrowed her eyes at him and moved to stand up, but he took hold of her hand. Falling back down hard, she froze, not knowing what to do. Teeth clenched, she looked away from him. _Who does 'e think 'e is touchin' me after all 'e's done?! An' why don't I jus' pull me 'and away from 'im?_

It felt like an eternity before she heard Tormund's voice again. She blinked in confusion, lifting her head from where she had let it rest. Horrified, she saw that she had fallen asleep against Jon Snow's shoulder. She had been so exhausted that she did not remember laying it down there at all.

"Come on," Tormund said. "_Up._ We're movin'."

_"Shit,"_ Ygritte cursed in frustration, springing up and feeling the heat of embarrassment flood her cheeks.

Jon watched her stow her weapons everywhere on her person. Her knife on her belt. Her quiver on her back. Her bow across her chest. Then she looked down at him, for it was unavoidable. He simply would not stop staring at her.

"You can't be trusted t'ride," she said with seething disgust. "So you'll 'ave t'walk.

"He _can't_ walk, Ygritte," said Tormund as he passed them by once more. "He's too weak an' in too much pain. Ride wit' 'im."

"An' 'ave 'im toss me off th'beast's back t'break me neck on th'ground when 'e decides t'desert us again?" Ygritte asked bitterly.

"He's not goin' t'do that. _I_ know it. _You_ know it," Tormund said.

"Don't much know what 'e'll do," she said, looking down at Jon. His forlorn expression only made her angrier. "He's a _liar._ Can't believe a _word_ 'e says."

"Look… Either you've accepted 'im back an' you 'elp 'im t'manage 'imself in 'is wounded state, 'r you don't trust 'im at all an' we kill 'im. No sense 'avin' 'im 'ere only t'berate 'im an' kick 'im 'round," Tormund said.

"Why're you _defendin'_ 'im?!" Ygritte asked. "He killed Orell an' 'ow many others!?"

"Aye, an' Orell almost dropped you off th'wall, an' you clamped down on me 'and an' damn near kicked me in me stones. We've all _done things._ What we don't 'ave time t'do's _argue_ 'bout 'em," Tormund said.

"You _are_," Ygritte said in sheer disbelief and bewilderment. She laughed cynically and rolling her eyes with contempt. "You're _defendin'_ 'im!"

"I'm defendin' _you_," Tormund reminded her. "_You're_ th'one who brought 'im back. _You're_ th'one who took 'is side after all 'e's done, _not me_." Without warning, Tormund drew his sword, grabbed Jon by the hair and put the blade to his throat. "Are you done wit' 'im, then? Are _we_ done wit' 'im? 'Cause let's get't over wit' right now if we are."

Ygritte made an unexpected sound just then, a vulnerable one, as she stepped forward just a bit before she realized that Tormund was only testing her. Mortified, she dropped her eyes and clenched her teeth. It was a sound born of fear and love for Jon, coming up from deep inside her where her most primal instincts lived. She hated herself for it, and for the pleading expression she must have had on her face. Jon had reached up to grip Tormund's arm and keep the blade at a distance, grunting in pain, but when he heard that sound come out of her, his eyes widened and he became transfixed by her.

"Aye, right. So, stop playin' these games. We've got ground t'cover. We need t'keep up our pace," Tormund said, releasing Jon. "I'll 'elp you get 'im on th'horse."

If Tormund had not told her to do it, she would never have. It was mortifying to have Jon Snow behind her, holding her waist and pressing against her. She knew he was enjoying every moment of it, but that was not even the worst part of it. She could smell him, feel his warmth, and hear him breathe. Every inch of her ached for him, for things to go back to the way they had been before, but her pride would not allow her to show it.

"Ygritte," Jon whispered in her ear at midday.

"Shut up," she whispered back.

"Can we talk? Please?" he asked.

"I said _shut up_, Crow," she said louder.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm asking to just talk," he said.

She stopped the horse and turned to shoot him a look of pure disgust. "What part o' _'shut up'_ d'you not understand?!"

"I remember the first time you told me to shut up…" he mused, smiling sadly. "The day we met. You were imitating me…"

"To th'_Others_ wit' your rememb'rances," she swore.

"I just want to talk, nothing more than that," he said.

"You want t'_talk?_" she asked haughtily. "Let's talk 'bout Orell. Let's talk about you killin' 'im."

Jon fell silent and only stared at her. _That shut 'im up well 'nough._

"D'you know what 'e said t'me, that day you were busy talkin' t'Tormund 'bout fuckin' me?" she asked.

"It wasn't me who brought that up. He was-" Jon began, but she was quick to silence him.

"D'you know what 'e said?!" she yelled.

"No," Jon said, sighing.

"He said that if I were 'is, 'e'd tell me I was beautiful," she said.

"Ygritte…" Jon tried, but she was not done yet.

"He said he'd be _good_ t'me, if I were 'is. How good were _you_ t'me, Jon Snow?" She lifted her eyes the sky, rolling them in feigned confusion and pondering. "Remind me 'gain. Seems I've forgotten how good you were. Funny… but I don't remember _you_ sayin' that t'me…"

"I need to ask you something. It's very important," Jon said, his voice low and guilty.

"You know what else's _important_, Crow? Trust. Loyalty. Not pushin' someone you professed t'love's face int'th'dirt while you ride off t'go tell your Crow friends all our plans," she said bitterly.

"Are you with child?" he blurted out.

It caught her completely off guard. She faced forward again and gave the horse a kick to start him moving again.

"Are you carrying my child?" he asked firmly.

"No," Ygritte replied just as firmly.

He was quiet for a time, and then, "You're certain?"

"Aye, I am," she said arrogantly.

"Why has no one seen you… do… whatever it is you do to… manage your, um… womanly bleeding each month?" he asked.

"What I do to _what_ me _what_ each month?" she asked with deep affront, scrunching her whole face at him and narrowing her eyes. "_Gods! _Do all lords' sons speak as idiotic'ly as you?"

"Why has no one seen you do it?" Jon repeated, clearly embarrassed.

"'Cause I don't want no one knowin' my business,_ least_ of all _Crows_," she said.

"I wasn't a Crow to you then," he reminded her.

"You were _always_ a Crow," she spat back. "An' I was always a _fool._"

"You're _absolutely sure?_" he asked.

"Ask me again an' I'll _show_ you 'ow sure I am," she said through gritted teeth.

But he had got her thinking now, and she did not want it to seem as if he had tricked her into talking by choosing that sort of intimate topic. Ygritte let some time go by, even though the question was there, bubbling beneath the surface, always at the forefront of her thought. She did not want to appear too eager. When the wind caught her hair and tossed it about, she reached for her hood, pulling it up as she turned her head a little. Seeing Jon staring at her, she seized the opportunity to ask what she wanted.

"That why you came back? For an imagin'ry baby?" she asked as coldly as she could make her words sound. "You goin' away 'gain first chance you get now that you know there ain't nothin' inside o' me?"

"That wasn't the only reason," he whispered.

"An' if you'd known before, for true, that I wasn't carryin' a _bastard's bastard_, would ya still 'ave come back then?" she asked. As soon as she had said it, she regretted it.

Jon's face changed. His jaw jutted to the side a bit and he looked away from her. Ashamed that she had hurt him, and annoyed that doing so would make her feel badly, she shot back before her anger cooled too much.

"_Would_ ya?" she asked.

"What do you want me to say, Ygritte?" he asked, clearly frustrated.

"Th'truth," she said, "but, oh, right… I forgot. You don't know 'ow t'tell th'truth. You know _nothin'_, Jon Sn-"

She drew in a quick, sharp breath when he lowered his arms around her. Stiffening, Ygritte would not look at him as he gently slipped his warm hands under her coat and down the front of her pants, slowly coming to lay them low on belly. She stopped the horse again.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice raspy with emotion. She pulled his hands away.

"You lied to me," he said, stunned. "You _are_ with child. Why else would you be so guarded against being touched there?"

"Why would I be so guarded 'gainst you touchin' me?! After what you did?! Do I really 'ave t'tell ya?!" she shouted.

"You _lied_ to me!" he said, raising his voice as well now. "How could you _lie_ about something like that?!"

"An' _you_ lied t'_me!_" she yelled angrily. "I told you never t'betray me, an' you looked me _dead i'the eye_ an' said you _wouldn't!_ You looked _right at_ me an' _lied!_" Her lips trembled and she started to shake. Anger surged through her body like lightning and she could scarcely control it. He drew his arms around her lovingly, protectively, but she furiously squirmed out of his embrace. He let go quickly, unable to fight her in his wounded condition. "So now 'ow does it feel to 'ave someone you thought you could trust look at you an' _lie?!_"

"Is there a problem 'ere?" Tormund asked.

Ygritte was breathing hard. She had not even noticed him there. "No!" she yelled intensely.

"Right," Tormund said, unconvinced. "What sort o' problem is't, an' 'ow long will it take t'sort out?"

"There's no problem! He just won't stop spewin' 'is Crow words at me, an' I'm tired of 'earin' 'em!" she said, angrily struggling to collect herself. "He's worse than you when 'e gets t'talkin' 'bout things no one cares to 'ear 'bout!"

"Don't you drag _me_ int'your lovers' spat!" Tormund said in an animated fashion.

"It's true," she insisted. "An' we ain't lovers no more!"

"D'you want me t'ride wit' 'im' for a while?" Tormund asked.

"No," she said.

"Yes," Jon said. "She shouldn't be on a horse."

The rage boiled up inside her as she turned to him, but no words would come out. She merely stared with lips pressed and eyes narrowed, wondering where he got the nerve to continue to treat her so poorly after all she had done for him.

"What?" Tormund asked.

"Nothin'," she said.

"It's not nothing," Jon said.

"Be quiet!" she shouted.

"Ygritte's carrying my-" he began, but she elbowed him in the stomach so hard he grabbed hold of her shoulders for support as he coughed. She kicked the horse, but Tormund reached for the harness and held him still.

"Is't true?" he asked.

"We're _not_ talkin' 'bout this," Ygritte said. Jon continued to cough behind her.

"Aye, we _are_," Tormund said. "Is… it… true?" he asked very carefully.

"So what if't is?" she said, staring him down. "It's my business an' no one else's."

Tormund stepped very close to her now, so close that she leaned away a little, as if she could really get away being on the back of a horse such as she was.

"How 'eavy will you be when we hit Castle Black?" he asked.

"No one'll even notice. My coat's big 'nough," she said, feeling a lump rise to catch in her throat. There was no point in denying it anymore. _Curse you, Jon Snow. You had no right t'tell 'im._

"How distracted will you be?" Tormund asked. "Will you be shootin' at th'Crows in front o' you 'r protectin' th'one in your belly?"

"I can fight!" she said with a snarl on her lips. "I _will_ fight. I'll do what needs t'be done."

"No one'd fault you for leavin'. All you'd need is t'say th'words," Tormund said. It was as close to a whisper as his voice ever got.

"What?" Ygritte whispered.

"As it stands now, you're protectin' a traitor an' a problem," he said, glancing at Jon who had finally recovered enough to sit up straight. "Leave us now, an' you become a traitor an' a problem yourself. Tell ev'ryone that you let 'im get you wit' child, well… now you're protectin' th'father o' your wee one an' leavin' th'army 'cause you're in a family way. There's a lot less shame t'be 'ad in that. A lot less… of a _problem._" He looked back to the other folk Ygritte knew would not be very understanding of her leaving with a known Crow spy.

"I'm not leavin'," she said. "_I'm_ no traitor." She shot Jon a judging glare.

"You'll never 'ave a better chance than this," Tormund said in that sort of half whisper he only used when he cared so much for Ygritte that it embarrassed him. She had only heard that tone of his a handful of times in her life.

"A better chance for what?" she asked.

"Life in one o' them wind towers you liked so much," Tormund said with a slight grin.

Mortified, Ygritte dropped her eyes.

"You spoke of that to him?" Jon asked, smiling.

"Oh, would you _shut up?!_" she yelled.

"How else does this end, hmm?" Tormund asked her. "So we hit Castle Black... If we lose, we die, but we're not goin' t'lose. So… when we _win_… _he_ dies. Or are you plannin' on leavin' 'im in th'forest while we do what's needed? D'you think 'e'll stay there? No. He'll be at your side protectin' you, 'cause you're carryin' 'is flesh an' blood inside you. When th'Night's Watch gets hold of 'im, his black brothers'll clip 'is wings so fast he won't even 'ave time t'blink before they behead 'im."

Ygritte swallowed hard. She did not want to consider how the battle might end, or how the middle of it might go, or how it all might start. She did not think about battles, ever. She simply found herself in the midst of them. In that spontaneity and rush of excitement, it was in the not-knowing that she drew her strength. Ygritte had always lived in the moment. Anything beyond that was always too uncertain for her to dwell too much on. When she did, it was never good, like when she thought long about the approaching extinction of the giants after her kin began to sing that song.

"He's right," Jon whispered, and for once, she did not have the wherewithal to silence him. "I _know_ it."

"You know _nothin'_, Jon Snow," she said, but her voice broke into a tremulous whisper about halfway through the sentiment. He made her heart ache with the way he smiled so affectionately in response to her words.

"You'll be distracted. By _'im, _an' by _that_ one there." Tormund nodded down to her belly. "You won't be at your best."

"I'll do what needs doin'," she said with a raspy, broken voice that did not serve her well. "I _believe_ in this. In _Mance_," she said passionately, pushing the words out to sound as strong as they deserved.

"No one's sayin' you don't, but this… is your _best chance_," Tormund said firmly, looking at each of them in turn. "Your _only_ chance."

There was nothing left to say. Taken aback, she could not say what she felt she should, but neither could she say what she wanted. So she sat atop the shifting horse as he picked at the grasses around his feet. Her eyes lost their focus.

"Stay wit' us until 'is strength's up. 'Til 'is wounds 'ave 'ealed well 'nough," Tormund whispered. "Then you tell ev'ryone you're carryin' 'is child an' I'll take you far 'nough away t'know that they won't follow. Then you go… as far as you can, as fast as you can."

"Go _where?_" Ygritte asked.

"East," Jon whispered pensively.

"Think about it," Tormund said. "Long an' 'ard, before you do somethin' you can't live wit', 'r don't do somethin' you can't live wit'out. You're not just a person any more, you're part of a family."

"He ain't my family!" Ygritte yelled.

"Aye, 'e is now! You made a child wit' 'im!" Tormund said. "What, oh, men 'ave t'honor women 'cause they grow up th'seeds, but women don't 'ave t'honor where those seeds came from? Tha's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

"What about _rape_, hmm?" she threw back, leaning toward him and putting her face very close to his. "Do women 'ave t'honor th'sources o' _those_ seeds, too?"

"We're not talkin' 'bout rape 'ere, an' you damn well know't," he said sternly.

"What about th'seeds o' _betrayers_ an' _liars?_ Do women 'ave t'honor _those?_" she asked with quiet affront.

"You made somethin' wit' 'im, girl, an' now whether you like it 'r not, y'ave got t'address it _somehow_," Tormund said, nearly touching his nose to hers for all his authority and refusal to back down. Even though she was higher than him, her haughtiness left her and she suddenly felt so small. "Think it over. _Carefully._" He started to walk away, but turned back one last time. "What're we fightin' for 'ere if not our lives an' our freedom? Who're we protectin' if not our wee ones? You've got th'freedom t'choose t'protect yours right now. Whether ya want to 'r not's your own question t'answer."

With that, he was gone, walking swiftly to catch up to the others. Jon's hands were at her shoulders now. Emotionally exhausted, Ygritte let them remain there. He started to knead her neck and shoulders. Closing her eyes, she had not realized how stiff and sore her muscles were until he started to massage them. She wanted to tell him to stop, but it felt so good that she was speechless.

"Lead the horse. I won't try to ride away. You shouldn't… Please, don't ride right now, Ygritte. I can't _tell_ you what to do, but I'm _asking_ you to please not ride in your condition," he said so kindly that she whirled around to narrow her eyes at him again.

_In my condition? He makes me sound like I'm made o' th'thinnest ice 'magin'ble, goin' t'fall down an' shatter meself._ She knew, though, that riding a horse endangered an unborn child. _Only if ya ride fast,_ she told herself, and maybe that was true to some extent. It was better to avoid it altogether, however. She had heard the other women at the main camp say it enough for her to know. Seeing the concern and love for her in Jon Snow's eyes broke her resolve. She slid from the horse and took his reins, forcing him to stop his idle munching. Following in the direction the others had gone, she started to walk.

"Are you at least considering what he said?" Jon asked.

"Are _you?_" she asked in return, not daring to look back at him again. She could not bear to see the look in those dark eyes she loved so much.

"No," he said.

She turned swiftly, so soon after pledging to herself that she would avoid looking at him at all costs. His answer had shocked her. _"No?"_ she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't need to."

"An' why's that?" Ygritte asked, angry that he had the power to stir up her emotions so quickly.

"Because you're the one who's going to make the decision," he said. "It's all up to you, and no one will rush you regarding anything. You'll decide on your own terms and your own time. Nothing and no one will make you stay or go if you don't want to, Ygritte. You're a _free woman. _You taught me that. So what is left for _me_ to ponder? All I can do is _wait_… and _hope_."

She turned away from him and pulled the horse forward again. Her empty hand moved to her belly. _I can't 'ave a life outside o' war an' survival, can I? That _is_ my life. If I'm free t'go, why is't that I feel it's so wrong to? I can't pretend this baby doesn't exist 'nymore. I'd want it to if I only 'ad Jon at m'side. If I could only trust 'im… Ev'rythin's changed now. Ev'rythin's…_

Ygritte glanced back at Jon to find him still staring at her. He smiled for only a moment, a sad and guilty smile, and then it was gone. His eyes dropped in shame. When they rose again, there was pain in them. A smile began on her own lips, one she could scarcely fight. It peeked through even as her brow furrowed and her wounded eyes drew back the love and longing she was not yet ready for him to see. She faced forward again and picked up her pace.

…_too deep t'let go of._

**Fragment V – Warm at Night (Jon)**

Days went by without Ygritte saying a single word to him. She tended his wounds well enough, cleaning and redressing them with freezing water and equally cold hands. She fetched him water to drink and let him share in the meat from her kills. She even helped him to move when his pain was at its worst, supporting him as he mounted and dismounted his horse, but she did so silently, with a wrinkled brow, and with eyes that scarcely ever met his.

Tormund was a constant protective and talkative presence, but Jon knew that was only for Ygritte's benefit. The large wildling's eyes would change as soon as Ygritte fell asleep at night, or whenever she left Jon's side to hunt. They grew colder, less forgiving. Nevertheless, he was keenly aware that without Tormund to keep watch while Ygritte was sleeping or hunting, he might find himself in a more precarious situation with the rest of their band. They eyed him up, cursing and spitting at him behind his back. He heard them well, but chose not to turn and look. Instead, he watched Ygritte defend him with strong eyes and biting words of warning. When it came time for her to interact with him, though, he was barely privy to those beautiful eyes and was never given a kind word, or any other sort of word for that matter.

Jon awoke one morning to the sound of Ygritte vomiting nearby. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He remembered Lady Stark's sickness when she was carrying Rickon. Ygritte had told him not two weeks ago that she had eaten some spoiled meat that made her sick. _And I believed her, though I never saw the meat that did it to her. She's an expert hunter. She's seen meat in all stages of decay, most likely. I always thought she should have known better that the meat was spoiled and not eaten it._ He also remembered her being repulsed by fish that one of her comrades had caught fresh by carving out a hole in the ice of a lake, forcing air out her nose violently and stepping back from it. _She said she didn't like fish, but I had seen her eat it back at the main camp the week I met her._ Looking back now, Jon was able to see all the signs he missed, all the things she hid so well.

His protective instincts flared, even in his wounded state. Struggling to push himself to his feet, he went to her. She was done being sick, but she still sat crouched behind a rock, doubled over with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Her eyes were closed and a look of pronounced discomfort lay on her face as she breathed roughly and irregularly. _Let her berate me, let her punch me, let her push me away if she wants. I won't let her go through this alone._ Falling roughly to his knees – stiffening for a moment as pain surged down his back and screamed in his wounded leg – Jon gently laid his hand on Ygritte's back.

She swiftly lifted her head and threw her rage at him with cruel eyes and pressed lips. It was fleeting though, and Jon saw her expression soften into sadness and pain almost immediately. She turned away from him, bowing her head as she stayed hunched over. He touched her a bit more firmly now so that she could feel him through her thick coat, rubbing her back through the furs. Getting as close to her as he could, he continued to rub her back with one hand as he gently drew back her fiery red hair from her face and neck. Bunching it behind her, he watched her face as he moved to take hold of her arm and steady her. She allowed him to do it, but her pride was clearly wounded.

Another hand lowered down to Ygritte, offering her a skin of water. It was Tormund's, and when she looked up at him, he smiled knowingly at her.

"Was that this mornin's breakfast?" he asked, nodding toward where she had been sick.

Ygritte said nothing, but only took a mouthful of water, swished it around in her mouth with revulsion for the taste, and spat it onto the grass. Then she took a few more to drink.

"Well, we've got dried venison," Tormund began to list.

Ygritte shook her head. "Tha's what came up th'first time," she whispered.

"…an' fish, but somethin' tells me you don't want th'fish," he went on.

She shook her head again. "I can't take th'smell of it."

"That leaves rabbit. Cooked fresh this mornin'," he offered. "There's still a few about. I can probably wrestle one away from somebody…"

"It's me own fault. I'll go wit'out," she said harshly, punishing herself for some unknown reason.

"'Tis no one's fault, 'cept maybe for 'im that got you in this predic'ment i'the first place," Tormund said.

Jon sighed heavily.

"…an' no you won't," he insisted. "You've got to eat for _two_, an' right now, you ain't eatin' well 'nough for even _one_."

"It wasn't 'is fault," Ygritte whispered then rather suddenly, with an air of shame that surprised Jon. "I pushed 'im to do't. He didn't want me. I 'ad t'force 'im. He did't so we'd all trust 'im. He never wanted me."

Tormund was quiet for a moment, but then he chuckled. "Hah! You forced 'im all eighty-seven 'r some other odd number o' times you did't? I think not."

Jon liked it much better when she was angry with him, putting him in his place and punching him in his gut. That was more like her. The sadness on her face now, the insecurity in her words and vulnerability in her voice, they all made him feel as low as the dust on the bottoms of his boots. "I _did_ want you," he whispered, taking advantage of his close proximity to her for as long as she permitted him to stay that close. He drew his arm around her shoulder, and when she did nothing to stop him, his lips brushed her temple and left a kiss there. "Every time." He braced himself for a shouted word or a strike to somewhere on his body that never came.

Ygritte shook her head just a bit, looking so emotionally exposed in that moment. She dropped her eyes to hide it, but Jon had already noticed. _Well, what did you expect her to think after what you did to her? It's as I feared. She's questioning whether I ever cared for her at all._

"_I'll_ go without, if supplies are a problem," Jon said to Tormund. "She can have my share."

"Who said you even _get_ a share?" Ygritte asked callously, recovering her acrimonious tone with daggers in her eyes.

He smiled, glad to see her regaining her ferocity. "You've given me one each morning… and another at night," he said, wanting to remind her without antagonizing her too much.

"Supplies're _always_ a problem, but we 'ad good luck wit' th'traps last night," said Tormund. "An' if we were t'start sayin' that some should go wit'out, those wit' child an' those wounded'd be th'last in line t'do so. Rabbit? Yes?" He pointed at Ygritte.

She nodded, accepting defeat. Tormund came back with a cooked and skewered rabbit for Ygritte and a hunk of dried venison for Jon. Jon was so hungry his stomach hurt almost as much as his wounds, and yet he forgot to eat as he watched Ygritte pull the flesh off the rabbit's skeleton with her rough, dirty fingers and shove it into her mouth until her cheeks bulged. Her eyes closed as she chewed. Jon never realized she was so hungry. _Is she that hungry all the time?_ _I knew food was scarce, but…_ _Or is it the growing child that is giving her such an appetite? _He suddenly wished he could take her to Winterfell. He had never wanted for food there. He remembered the feast the night King Robert Baratheon came to visit his father. It was perhaps the largest one he had ever seen the cooks at Winterfell prepare, but those days were gone. The king was dead. His father was dead. There was no going back.

At first Jon was merely too captivated by how much Ygritte enjoyed the rabbit to remember to eat his own food. For all the swiftness with which she had stuffed its flesh into her mouth, she had then held it there, chewing it slowly and savoring its taste. She made a little noise – Jon loved her noises so much – of pure pleasure as she chewed, as if the warmth, texture, and taste of the rabbit at that moment had made her completely happy. Her brow furrowed reverently as she started to swallow, and when he saw her eyes start to open, he dropped his gaze and pretended like he had not noticed any of it. _It would only anger her anyway. _

Once he had remembered the venison again, however, he still did not eat it. He waited for Ygritte to finish the entire rabbit, even so long as it took her to meticulously pick the bones clean with her short fingernails. When that was done, she sucked each of the small bones dry. Lastly, she licked her fingers, replaced her gloves, and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her coat. All the while he carefully avoided her gaze whenever she might have looked up at him and managed a smile here and there in between. _Never was a rabbit's life better spent, _he mused. _Sansa would certainly protest if she saw Ygritte's crude manners. She'd say she was horrid and rude, just like Arya, and then she'd shrink away to her needlework with perfect poise and posture. How little things like needlework really matter. Even so, I miss her. I miss them all._

When Ygritte was done with everything and the rabbit's bones were slid off the reed that skewered them and buried lightly under grass, she glanced at his venison. "Why're ya not eatin'?" she asked flatly.

"I'm not that hungry," he lied. He broke the hunk of meat in half, which took a bit of effort considering how tough it was, and held one piece out to Ygritte. "Maybe you'll feel better later in the day. Save it, in case you need something to hold you until the next meal."

She hesitated, and Jon fully expected her to slander him again _– it'll be something with "Crow" attached to the end of it, likely _– and refuse it. Instead, she tentatively reached out to take it.

"You sure?" she asked, her pride a bit wounded that she was even considering taking it.

Jon nodded, even as his stomach growled. He was thankful that she did not notice. She stowed the piece of dried meat in one of her belt pouches. The piece he ate was not nearly enough for him, but he was not about to ever let Ygritte know that. Whatever discomfort he felt was worth it to see her produce the venison from the pouch later that day when the wildling band showed no signs of stopping for a midday rest. They would not be hunting again until dusk, he knew, or they would have stopped to do so by now. He smiled when he saw her eating the dried meat, and it somehow made his own hunger more bearable.

That evening, Ygritte went hunting and brought back a large buck with the help of others to carry it. Tormund had stayed near Jon, always keeping an eye on him, but more importantly keeping an eye on the other wildlings. Jon knew they would not move to harm him so long as Tormund guarded him. Jon's wounds were healing at a painfully slow and frustrating rate. He shifted where he sat often, trying to keep his body limber. The stiffness in his neck and back were only a minor nuisance compared to the stinging of the wounds in his back and the throbbing of the one in his thigh.

The deer was laid down beside Jon, and he felt a sort of morbid camaraderie with it, seeing the arrow that protruded from its heart. She had killed it cleanly, with just that single arrow, and so he imagined that it had not suffered half as much as he had. _I still have my life, however. _Ygritte's eyes met his only for a brief moment, but their expression was very telling._ See this deer? _they seemed to say._ This could have been you._

He watched Ygritte as she rolled up the sleeves of her coat and began to remove the buck's organs. Next she skinned it, carefully and meticulously. The fur was taken by others to be cut into pelts for clothing or to save it to make leather for other supplies. Some of the organs – the heart and liver, most notably – were cut into very small bits and used to make stew. The rest of the venison was cut either to dry and cure or to cook immediately.

Tormund made sure that Ygritte kept a fair amount of it for her and Jon. He placated the others by saying that it was her kill, and therefore she should have the largest share if she wanted it. They accepted his reasoning for her, but they eyed Jon distastefully. Nevertheless, they did not argue. The meat smelled wonderful as Tormund tended it over a small fire. The fire was only to be used to cook the meat and then immediately snuffed so as not to draw unwanted attention to the band.

Jon's stomach hurt so much it had become distracting, even amongst all his other aches and pains. It was attacking itself quite regularly now, with loud rumbles and whines and churning sounds. He hoped that he would have a decent share of the venison, but he had not the heart to ask for it. When it was done cooking, the long, thick slab of meat was divided equally between the three of them. Jon tried not to look as desperately famished as he was while he ate it. The smell of it cooking had almost been enough to drive him insane. They all ate quickly, however. He was glad to see that Ygritte was able to keep her meal down this time. It seemed that mornings were the worst for her, not now when the sun was just starting to dip below the horizon. Soon, all fires were snuffed, watches assigned, and it was time to rest.

Jon lay down, preparing himself for another night of shivering and fragmented sleeping, waking up every hour or so due to pain or the biting cold. _At least I'm going to sleep with a full stomach,_ he thought, grateful for it. Ygritte had not spoken to him since early that morning, which was not anything out of the ordinary. What _was_ out of the ordinary was that she came to him now and settled down near him. He watched as she lay down and fussed with the hood of her coat and its sleeves, pulling them taught around her neck and wrists. Then she turned to face away from him and squirmed closer until her body was pressed against his.

If Tormund noticed this, he did not care, for he continued to lick his fingers and clean up the remnants of their dinner. He had volunteered to take first watch. Jon eyed him for a moment, so sure that the man would at least look at them if not comment on what she had done, but he did not. Settling down fully now, Jon hesitated to move for a while. Finally, he laid one of his hands on her arm. She did not move, speak, or protest, and so he slid both of his arms under hers, holding her around her waist. He was shocked to feel her lay her arms over his and press against him even more, not understanding why she would do such things while being so furious with him such as she was. _I'm not about to ask her, though. I'll let her do as she pleases._ Jon buried his face in the fur of her hood and fell asleep, remaining so until Tormund woke Ygritte a few hours before sunrise for second watch. She sat at attention with her back straight and her bow lying on her crossed legs, and Jon fell asleep beside her, warm and content.

**Fragment VI – Words and Promises (Ygritte)**

Ygritte prided herself on being a free woman. That was her identity. She was also a hunter, an archer, a warrior, yes, but it was that she could maintain her own freedom as a strong woman without kneeling to anyone and without a man's help that made her the person she was. All other talents and skills and desires and ambitions were but facets of that pride. She felt tied to Jon Snow, controlled by him, and that made her angry. It made her feel weak.

He brought out emotions in her that she was not proud of and which she could not always control the intensity of. She had barely cried a day in her life – _'cept to 'ear certain songs, like that one "Last o' th'Giants"_ – until she met Jon Snow. Now it seemed she had to fight not to cry almost every day. Try as she might to hate him, forget him, and sever whatever invisible ties held her to him, she could not do it. She had never needed anyone in her life. Having to admit that she needed Jon Snow was the worst insult the gods had ever dealt her.

_It never used t'matter so. Why's it matter now?_ She thought back to a time when she never used to consider Jon Snow a threat to her freedom_. I loved 'im an' needed 'im, an' that was al'right, 'cause he loved me an' needed me, too. Or I thought as much. Knowin' I was taken for a fool changed all that._ She had lain with other men before Jon Snow, but it had always been so meaningless. She did not think on those men after it was over. She did not want them to hold her or talk to her or even stay near her. _'Twas a bit o' fun, an' then it was over._ With Jon Snow, however, Ygritte never wanted to be apart from him.

She had invited Jon into a deeper part of herself that had never been opened before, something that went far beyond any physical encounter. Thinking she was in full control, she reveled in the totality of her love for him, until he betrayed her. _He may as well 'ave chained me to th'Wall an' left me for dead, th'way 'e stole m'freedom away._ Perhaps it was not a loss of physical freedom, but to Ygritte, it tasted just as bitter. Her every thought was consumed with him. Every waking moment she was either angry at or sad for him, either longed for him or hated him. Her mind, her heart, and her life were no longer her own. Jon Snow had left his mark on all of them, and now that she knew him for what he truly was, she resented that.

The worst part about him stealing her emotional freedom away was that she seemed no longer in control of when she blurted things out. In the heat of the moment one afternoon, she could simply not tell herself quickly enough to hold her own tongue. As soon as the words escaped her lips, she regretted them, knowing he would enjoy the fact that he had such control over her thoughts.

"Tell me th'truth," said Ygritte as she led him on his horse. "Ya never wanted me. Ya did what you 'ad t'do t'stay alive, an' fuckin' me was th'easiest way t'complish that. Jus' say it. I want to 'ear you say it."

"I can't," Jon Snow said.

She turned to look at him. "Why not?" she asked with disgust. "'Cause ya don't 'ave th'_stones_ for it?"

"No," he said, slightly miffed at the word, "because it isn't true."

"You _used_ me!" she said furiously. "_Say it,_ Crow! Have th'decency t'admit it!"

"I _loved_ you, Ygritte. I love you _still_. Loving you was never part of the plan," Jon said.

"Ah, but there _was_ a plan," she said haughtily.

"Yes," he admitted, "but my love for you was real."

"If that's true, then we should've stayed together… in that cave… away from all others. We should 'ave gone our own way," she said. "I told ya so, but you left, an' now ev'rythin's changed. If ya loved me all so much, you'd 'ave stayed wit' me."

"We can still go back there…" he asked. The hope in his voice made her long for it, but then pride soured her hope into anger.

_We can't go back now. Ev'rythin's changed._

"You know _nothin'_, Jon Snow," she said strongly.

"Then _teach_ me," he said with a smile. "I want to learn. From _you._"

He had never answered her saying so directly and passionately before. Ygritte was not at all sure how to respond. She thought long about it, sifting through many kind and helpful answers before arriving at the only one that would leave her pride intact.

"I tried," she said. "You didn't listen none, an' then you left."

"I came back," he said.

"For what's growin' inside me, not for me," she said. "Tell me, Crow… when I bear this wee one you put in me, will you take't from me an' leave me behind again?"

"I would _never_ do that," he said with such affront, such solid conviction that she had to look at him again. "I would never take your child away from you any more than I would ever want anyone to take mine away from me. I came back for _both_ of you, Ygritte."

"Aye, but 'twas _me_ ya left," she said. "What, so laughin' wit' me an' lovin' me an' touchin' me an' fuckin' me were all so trivial? They weren't worth _stayin'_ for, but a baby's worth _comin' back_ for? You didn't come back for _me_ at _all!_"

"I never stopped loving you, Ygritte," Jon said. _"Never."_

"You can just up an' leave someone ya love that easily, then? I don't call that love't all," she said. "I call't _usin'_ someone."

"I didn't leave _you_, I left the _wildlings_," Jon said.

"I _am_ one o' them you left, in case you hadn't noticed!" she yelled angrily. "An' we're _free folk_, Crow. Get't right. You've been 'earin' it long 'nough."

"And they prefer 'Night's Watchmen', not 'Crows'," Jon said in a mumbled whisper. He sighed slowly.

"_'They?' _Not '_we'_?" she asked skeptically.

"_'They'_," Jon insisted.

"I would've gone wit' you," she said lowly, daring to speak from an emotional place. "All you 'ad t'do was ask. I was ready t'give up ev'rythin' an' stand by you. 'Stead, ya threw me to th'ground."

"I didn't want your own people to turn on you," said Jon. "I didn't want you to make that sacrifice for me."

_"You don't get t'make those choices!"_ she shouted, coming towards him a little. The horse, sensing her hostility, flicked his ears back and snorted a little. He beat the ground with his right front hoof in nervous protest. "_I _decide what I sacrifice for _who_ an' _when!_ What is't you think 'you're mine as I'm yours' _means?!_ It means that above all else we _love_ each other! We _trust_ each other! We _live_ an' _die_ for each other! We're loyal to _each other!_ I was ready t'do that for you an' you were never _ever_ willin' t'do't for me!"

"If I'm not, then what am I doing here?" he asked. "I made a mistake, Ygritte. A _terrible_ one. Maybe I didn't realize it until I considered that you might be with child, but that doesn't mean I didn't come back for _you_. Maybe it just took the thought of… of just how much I had made with you… just how much I loved you and you loved me… to make me realize that I couldn't leave. All my life I've been taught the value of duty and honor, that keeping one's word is the way all good men conduct themselves-"

"You _didn't_ keep your word!" she yelled. "You _promised_ me! You're a _liar!_" Her voice shook so terribly that there was no way she could hide it. Her face grew flushed as her bottom lip quivered. She could not look at him. Stomping her foot involuntarily in anger, she turned away and took a moment to compose herself. When she felt strong enough to speak again, she did so, but she her voice sounded even more tremulous than before. "You looked _right at_ me, Jon… an' said… that you'd not betray me…"

She was so angry with herself that she had said his name that way, so desperately and without his surname, but she had no time to reflect upon it for he was already dismounting the horse. He did so with much difficulty, and Ygritte shivered a little, but not from the cold.

"Don't," she whispered. _Don't come t'me. I don't know what'll 'appen if you do…_

He grunted as his feet hit the ground, pausing in pain for a short time before approaching her. He hesitated again but then slowly took her into his arms.

"Don't touch me… I'm warnin' you…" she said, but the words were weak and she did not fight him.

She started to tremble from the warmth and love of his embrace, the way he pulled her to him and cradled her head in his gloved hand. Ygritte ached too badly for him to be the distant, emotionless being she wished to portray to him. With a small whimper she buried her face against his neck and lifted her arms to hold him.

"And you said you'd cut off my… uh…" he whispered in her ear. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "So let's be thankful you didn't keep your word either."

She barely saw the humor in his words. Although she wanted to tell him that she never had any intention of doing anything like that to him, she could not bring herself to speak.

"I gave my word to the Night's Watch before I gave it to you," Jon whispered. "'Watch and listen,' that's what Qhorin Halfhand told me. 'Live with them. Fight with them. For as long as it takes… but remember who and what you are.' That's why he attacked me. He knew you would never accept him as one of their own, but I was unknown to Mance. He thought that I could gain the wild-… the _free folks'_ trust by killing Qhorin and learning of Mance's plans. It was always his plan – and my duty – to eventually return to the Night's Watch to warn them. I never lost sight of that, but-"

Ygritte pulled away from him, eyeing him up. "You… _were_ lyin' th'whole time, then. 'Bout ev'rythin'." she said. She swallowed as her mouth went suddenly and distressingly dry. "You lied… t'me… from th'start. Ya jus' said it."

She tried to wrench her arms away from him but he held her tightly.

"Wait! Listen to me!" Jon said.

"No! Get your hands off me, Crow!" she cried.

_"Listen!"_ he yelled, holding her so tightly that she would have had to hurt him to free herself. Unwilling to that, she merely stiffened in his arms. "Loving you was _never part of it!_ Maybe I would've had no choice but to give in to your advances eventually or I'd be found out, but that's not why I laid with you. That's not why I held you against me and touched you the way I did and," he lifted his hand to her cheek and rubbed it with his thumb, dropping his voice to a whisper, "and kissed you where I did. If that had been the only reason, I'd never have done any of it. I was raised to respect women. I would never take one just to save my own skin or even to further a ruse. I _wouldn't._ I gave in to you because I _wanted_ you, because I _loved_ you. That it helped me to stay alive and gain the trust of your comrades was fortunate for me, but it was not what made me do it."

Ygritte shook her head, unable to believe him. It hurt too much.

"You were _never_ part of any of this for me. I had my orders, I had my duty… and then I had you… and you confounded everything for me. Someone told me once that love is the death of duty. Now I understand why," he said.

He moved to tilt her face up toward his. She permitted it, albeit with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.

"I never stopped loving you," he whispered. "When I promised that I would never betray you, that's what I meant, that I would always love you, and I always have. But I couldn't stay with you and do what it was my duty to do at the same time. I didn't think I had any other choice. I've always tried to do the right thing, the good thing, the just thing. Warning the Night's Watch was what I thought I _had_ to do. Staying with you was what I _wanted_. If given the choice, I thought it was right and good and just to forego what I wanted and do as I was ordered, but then I realized… that…"

"… bein' free is better'n followin' orders?" she whispered.

"… there is nothing _right_ or _good_ or _just_ about loving a woman the way I did and then leaving her behind," he said.

She recoiled in surprise a little.

"I had a duty to the Night's Watch. Perhaps I have it still, though I've chosen to abandon it, but the moment I laid down with you, I created another. It did not even occur to me until now that you might be with child. Once the thought entered my mind, I realized… the depth of what I feel for you, and the commitment I should have made to you. _I love you,_ Ygritte. I'm free to say that now. I didn't feel free to say it before. I'd be damned in some way no matter which side I chose, and if I've two duties that cannot exist side by side, then the half of me I choose to condemn is the half that would have gone back to the Night's Watch."

She fell silent and could not meet his gaze any longer. Her eyes dropped and after a time, he moved to hold her again. She let him do it, feeling exhaustion and emotion weaken her. Leaning against him, she buried her face against his chest. The smell of him made her remember all the times they had made love. There had been playful nights, where they rolled around, pinning each other, giggling to each other. Then there were the nights they had been barely able to keep their furs around them as they moved for all their passion. There were also nights when they had both been so tired from the day's march as they lay down to sleep, but one of them would start nuzzling the other, kissing the other's neck, and soon she would feel his hands under her clothes. He had slipped inside her so gently during those times, so quietly, and yet they were no less passionate then than on their most playful nights.

"That's it. That's _all_ of it. There are no more secrets than those," he said, eyes cast downward as he reached for her hands. She let him take hold of them, mostly because she was too distracted to think to pull them away.

Ygritte wanted to forget the pain he caused her and go back to all that they had before. There was a part of her that wanted to punish him forever for the gaping wounds in her heart and her pride. A more vulnerable part, however, just wanted to give in to him, to believe that he meant what he said. They battled inside her, these two halves. As of yet, there was no victor.

"How far along are you?" he whispered.

"Don't know exactly," she replied.

"But you have some idea…" he said.

"Near about a third o' my time through," she whispered.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"I didn't know how," she said.

"Can I…?" he whispered.

"What?" she whispered back.

Slowly, in case she objected, he moved to lay his hand on her belly. Although he had removed his glove, his hand lay over her clothes, and she knew he could not feel anything that way. Fighting against her prouder and more protective instincts, she quickly grabbed his hand and slipped it under her coat and then under her pants to rest on her lower belly. Then she closed her eyes, for she could not bear to see the look on his face.

After a time, she felt his thumb rub the sensitive skin of her belly and his lips brush her forehead, and then, "Tormund is watching us."

Ygritte turned to see Tormund looking on from some distance away. Jon took his hand away as he approached them. Ygritte turned fully around, struggling to collect herself.

"You two're fallin' behind," he said. "Ev'rythin' al'right 'ere?"

"Aye," Ygritte said. "We'll be along."

Tormund nodded, glancing at Jon Snow before leaving. Ygritte looked around and realized just how far behind they actually were. No one else was around, and she could see the rest of her comrades far ahead and disappearing over a hill. She turned suddenly when she heard the sounds of Jon mounting the horse again. Unable to put into words what she felt, she went to him and gripped his fur coat. He lowered himself back down to the ground as she squeezed between him and the horse and held onto him tightly.

There they remained for some time, with Jon holding Ygritte as she clung to him. Long after she had stopped trembling and a strange sort of peace came over her, they stood in silence, the wind whipping at their hair. Without a sound, Ygritte slipped away out of his embrace and helped push him up onto the horse's back. Taking the reins, she led the horse and Jon to catch up to the rest of her band.

**Fragment VII – Goodbye (Jon)**

"I'm not sayin' I'll do't," Ygritte said, chewing the tough, dried meat, as if they had already been in the middle of a conversation. In actuality, it was the first time she had spoken to him that day. "…but if we left, where would we go?" she asked. Her eyes looked downward at the meat, not at him.

"East," Jon said. "There are fewer settlements in that direction."

"Do we need fewer settlements?" she asked.

"We do if we want to avoid alerting any of the king's men on the roads. We do if we don't want to run into any of my former brothers. And… we do if we want to be left alone," he said.

"Do we want t'be left alone?" she asked.

"I know what you're going to say, but you can't just live out on the plains. South of the wall, you've got to have a house, a permanent residence. You've got to pay the king's tax," he said.

"I won't pay no south'rners' tax," she said haughtily. "An' I don't need any house t'live in. A tent'll do fine 'nough. Or nothin't all."

"And when the king's men find us camping out on the plains – which they will, eventually – what will you say? Fuck off?" he asked with a slight smirk.

"I won't say anythin'. I'll just shoot 'em," she said. "If they bother us, they deserve it."

"You can't just go around killing the king's men, Ygritte," Jon said.

"I can do what I want! I'm a free woman!" Ygritte insisted, clearly affronted. "If they threaten me, I'll defend meself!"

"Just… try to understand for a moment," Jon said. "I understand your beliefs, but the people south of the Wall don't. Regardless of what you think and feel and insist upon, if we make ourselves conspicuous and kill the king's men and flaunt the breaking of his laws around the countryside, they will come for us. More and more will come until they take us or kill us. Is that what you want?"

Her jaw jutted to the side in anger, but she did not answer him.

"I am not denying that you're free, that _we're_ free, but we have to be careful about it. Can you understand that? Can you admit that much at least?" he asked, nearly pleading with her.

"Well, what d'you say we should do, _if_ we left t'gether? I'm not sayin' I will," she said.

"We'd need coin," Jon said. "We'd have t'find work somewhere."

"I'm not workin' for no one," Ygritte said. "I work for meself."

"Fine, then _I'll_ have to find work," he said.

"What for?" she asked, her nose scrunching up in confusion.

"For _coin_, Ygritte," he repeated, knowing she did not understand.

"Who needs coin?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"To rent a room at an inn, to purchase land or a house, to buy food, you need coin. A _lot_ of it," he replied.

"I hunt me own food," she said with an arrogance that Jon found alluring.

"Not on the king's land, you don't," he said.

"What'd you eat for dinner last night, hmm?" she asked. "Imagin'ry deer? Tasted awful good an' 'twas mighty satisfyin' for bein' 'magin'ry. You liked it some, as I recall. Did you forget?"

"Yes, well, there are a lot of things you and your people shouldn't be doing that you are already," he said, sighing.

"So, what-all's th'diff'rence?" she asked.

"The difference is we'll be on our own without an entire war band to fall back on. We'll be just us two, and soon, we'll…" he looked down at her belly.

She looked, too, but her face was quick to lift back up again. "Don't stare at it like you can see it. You can't see nothin'."

He smiled then. "But I know it's there. We have to think about the future, Ygritte. Well, we would if you wanted to leave with me."

"I'm not sayin' I-" she began, but he slid closer to her.

"I know," he said, "but… if you _were_ ever going to seriously consider it, then we would both need to think about what will happen once the baby is born."

"Wha's there t'think 'bout?" she asked nonchalantly.

"All right," Jon said, calling her bluff. "It's born. Today. What do you do with it?"

"I wrap it up snug in furs, keep it clean an' warm, feed it, love it, an' protect it wit' me life from all th'ills o' th'world 'til 'tis old 'nough ta start learnin' 'em for its own self," she said. "If I'm one t'judge, my wee one should be 'round two 'r three before I start lettin' th'world teach it some. 'Til then, it'll 'ave me to 'elp keep back th'dark o' night, like me own mum did for me when I was a babe."

Jon had not been at all prepared for that sort of answer. In fact, he had never stopped to think about Ygritte's opinion of her unborn. He had assumed that she hated and resented it every bit as much as she professed to hate and resent him. He also never thought of Ygritte as one with strong maternal instincts. More often than not, she seemed a hard and harsh woman – _except when we made love, but that seems like years ago now_ – rather than one who would protect and care for an innocent child. A lump rose in his throat to hear the affection in her voice as she spoke of their child. He leaned into her, touching his lips to her temple and leaving them there. In time, his eyes closed.

"Will it 'ave you?" Ygritte whispered. "Will it 'ave its father?"

"That's up to you," he whispered back.

"It shouldn't be," she whispered. "Either you want t'be there for it 'r you don't."

"And if you didn't want me there, there's nothing in this world I could do to stop you from forcing me away," he said.

"Forget 'bout me," she said. "Jus' answer as you like. Stop thinkin' 'bout it so much."

_"Yes,"_ Jon said strongly, as was his first instinct to say. "My child will have its father."

"There, now… If you're goin' ta think 'bout anythin', think 'bout what made you say that jus' now. Won't that feelin' matter more to our wee one than coin 'r a house?" she whispered.

He nodded, though he was still worried about both.

"Well, then," she whispered.

He drew her face towards his and tentatively kissed her lips. She did not return the sentiment immediately, but when she finally did, she took his breath away with her passion. She licked and nibbled and bit at his lip, just as she did the first time they kissed and every time after. When it was over she touched her forehead to his.

"I love you, Jon Snow. I _need_ you. But I can't forgive you. Not yet." The words caught in her throat towards the end, but he knew she would not cry.

"I understand," he whispered.

"Do you?" she asked as he watched a poignant and tragic wrinkle appear in her brow.

"Yes," he assured her. He caressed her cheek with his hand and she leaned into it, looking so sad. "May I kiss you again?" he whispered. "Just once more, and then I'll let you be."

She nodded, and they kissed slowly and deeply. Then, as he had promised, he pulled away from her and watched her sad expression as he moved some distance away. She allowed him these moments in such small amounts and he dared not ask for more than she was willing to give. They were happening more often as time went by, however. _I have to give her time. I hurt her deeply. I shattered the trust between us. This isn't going to heal overnight. At least I know she loves me and needs me, for she said as much._

Jon was well enough to travel now without the aid of a horse, even though he was still in pain and had limited use of his back and arms. He limped on his wounded leg, but the exercise seemed to be good for it. It was only at night that it would ache and throb. He would rather have ridden the horse if Ygritte could ride with him, but since she could not, he wanted to spend his time walking alongside her.

She watched him a lot that day, asking him about his limp and his pain. She checked his wounds at sunrise, at noonday when the band stopped to rest and eat, and again at sundown. Jon wondered why she would fuss over him so much. He did not have to wait long for an explanation. That night, as they sat around their personal supplies discussing watches, Ygritte blurted out something that nearly made Jon choke on the dried rabbit he had been gnawing on.

"We're leavin' at first light."

Tormund seemed just as shocked as he. "Have you told _'im _that?"

"He said he'd be there," she said, as her right hand moved over her belly.

"Is that right?" Tormund asked Jon.

"Aye," Jon said, going along with it.

Jon had no idea what the gruff wildling would think. He certainly did not expect him to smile quite as kindly as he did. Tormund nodded.

"Good," he said.

Ygritte looked up at him. There was distress in her eyes and Jon knew why without her having to utter a word. Tormund took first watch again and forgot – intentionally so – to wake Ygritte up for the second. She angrily berated him about how stupid it had been of him to go without sleep, but all he did is stand before her and grin.

"Are you really going t'yell at me on th'last morn I'm ever goin' t'see you?" he asked gently.

Jon watched them embrace, staying a good enough distance away. He saw Tormund whisper something to Ygritte, and she nodded, but it was not for Jon's ears. He knew how hard this was for her and how close the two of them had been over the years. He was the closest thing Ygritte had to a father. _At least you got to say goodbye,_ Jon mused, thinking of his own father.

Ygritte confidently announced to the other members of her band that she was carrying Jon's child and that they were heading off on their own. Immediately, she and Jon were met with vehement disapproval, but Tormund assured the others that they were only looking out for themselves.

"They're gone, now. Out of it. We're headed t'Castle Black an' they're goin' back north. They've got a wee one t'consider now. Leave 'em to't," he said.

It was Tormund's idea to say they were going north. That way, if anyone did dare to try to find them, they would be looking in the wrong place. Tormund walked them some ways north, back toward the Wall, until the rest of the band had disappeared over the hills. When they were alone, he embraced Ygritte one last time.

"Take _care_, you hearin' me? Don't do anythin' I wouldn't do," he said.

"More like don't do anythin' you _would_ do," Ygritte said with a smile. It was a sad smile though, and her voice was barely a whisper.

"You take care of 'er, now," he said to Jon as they parted.

"I can take care o' meself!" Ygritte protested. "I'll be takin' care of 'im, most like."

"Good luck wit' that, lad," Tormund said to Jon, chuckling an' shaking 'is head.

Jon could not help but smile.

"You'll be missed," he said to Ygritte very seriously.

She nodded and swallowed hard. "As will you," she said, her voice raspy and fraught with emotion.

"Gods be wit' you, girl," he said. It was the closest thing to a prayer that Jon had ever heard him utter.

"Good luck at Castle Black," she said. "I wish I could go wit' you."

"You can," said Tormund, "but your wee one shouldn't."

Ygritte nodded again, and her hand found her belly.

"Go, now," he said to her. "Take this." He handed her a knife carved from stag horn. She started to shake her head but he insisted. "It was my father's. He carved it with 'is own 'ands. I want you to 'ave it. You might need it someday." He smiled one last time at her. "Go. An' if you dare look back, I'll…"

He did not finish his sentiment. They parted, and neither Jon nor Ygritte looked back.

**Fragment VIII – Home (Ygritte)**

They were days to the east before they sought to rest in any prolonged capacity. Tormund had stowed a significant amount of dried venison in Ygritte's satchel, something she told Jon he was sure to take a lot of flak for once the others found out. Jon was thankful for the extra food, but Ygritte told him that had she seen Tormund hide the food in her bag, she would have punched him in the gut for it.

She did not know this land, and that both fascinated and frustrated her. Jon discerned only general direction by looking at the sun or the stars, but she could have done that herself. Neither one of them had traversed this land before, and so they had to be careful. Jon had been right, however. There were very few people, and the farther east they went, they encountered even fewer. Ygritte wanted to see a castle, but Jon assured her that amidst all the war and strife going on in Westeros, the last place they should look for safety or shelter is in a castle.

"Why can't we jus' go back north?" she asked.

"Because of the white walkers," he said. "You know that."

"I know 'ow t' kill 'em, too," she said.

"So, why don't all the free folk just stay north of the Wall forever?" he asked playfully. "Explain it to me again, because… I thought it was because of the white walkers."

She grinned at that. "'Cause not ev'ryone can fight 'em. What 'bout th'very old 'r th'very sick?"

"Or the very young," Jon said more seriously.

The smile left her face.

"We need to protect the baby," he said, meeting her gaze.

She looked away, having no point on which to argue his words. Looking forward down into a valley as she pushed herself to climb over a few large boulders, she then stood atop them and paused to admire the view. "Look there," she asked, pointing.

"Did you find another windmill?" Jon asked, already chuckling at her.

"No," she said, feeling her cheeks flush hot with embarrassment.

He came to her side and looked where she pointed. A small cottage was nestled in the lowest point of the valley. From where she stood, Ygritte could see sheep and chickens and a cow. There was even a horse tied nearby.

"It's just a peasant home," Jon said. "We should leave them be."

"Should we?" she asked.

"Yes, we should!" Jon snapped at her. He looked immediately guilty for it the moment he did.

"Gods," Ygritte said to him, recoiling from him with a smirk. "What was that for?"

"You know what it was for," Jon said, but now he was flushed as well.

"No, I don't," she said.

"The last time I came upon a peasant home with you, you killed the owner and stole his supplies," Jon said.

Ygritte came very close to him now, her eyes narrowing in anger even though she whispered to him. "Th'last time, I killed th'owner t'save your hide an' then you betrayed me an' stole 'is horse. So let's talk 'bout who did what, now."

Jon sighed, defeated. "I just don't want to harm any more innocent people, Ygritte."

"I wasn't suggestin' we 'arm 'em. I was suggestin' we jus' go talk to 'em," she said.

"To what end?" Jon asked. "What if they report to someone that they saw wildlings here? What if they recognize me as a member of the Night's Watch?"

"They won't," Ygritte said, starting down the hill, "'Cause you ain't one no more." She said it with more certainty than she believed.

"Ygritte!" he called after her. "What do you intend to do?"

"Maybe we 'elp 'em out wit' somethin'," she called back. "Maybe they give us a chicken 'r somethin' else tha's useful."

"Do we _need_ a chicken?" Jon asked.

When she stopped and turned back to him, adjusting the weight of her satchel with the angle of her bow across her chest, his expression was one of dire concern.

"I'm tryin' t'do things _your_ way," she said. "I'm givin't a try. One for one. Who'd argue wit' that?"

"We will _not _hurt these people," Jon said firmly to her, following her as she kept going. "Ygritte…"

"If they don't want us there, we'll leave. I promise," she said.

He sighed, but fell silent afterward, and she knew she had won. As soon as they drew near to the house of wood and stone with a tightly woven thatch roof, she knew something was wrong. The horse was agitated, with ears back and nostrils flaring. She bucked and whinnied as they approached, fighting against the rope that tethered her. The cow was mooing mournfully, and the chickens flocked to them, clucking and pecking at their feet.

"These animals're 'ungry," she said, confused as she watched them.

"Aye," Jon said. He drew his sword.

"So much for not 'armin' 'nyone," Ygritte said.

"Something's not right," Jon whispered.

Ygritte slid her bow over her head, reached into her quiver and drew an arrow. Knocking it, she covered Jon as he approached the cottage door. The chickens lost interest in them and wandered to the borders of their pen again, searching for escape. She could hear the sheep baaing in distress. Looking over at them, she saw that the grass in their area of fenced-in confinement had been stripped down to the dirt.

Jon knocked at the door, but there was no answer. He tried to open it, but something prevented him from doing so. With one swift kick at it, he sent it flying back. A burst of dust rose up off it. Jon coughed and waved his hand to disperse it. He went inside, and Ygritte lost sight of him.

She waited, watching outside for any sign of the owners of the cottage. There was no one around, and she heard nothing from inside. After a short time, she began to get worried. She called to Jon, but he did not answer. Unable to stand idly by anymore, she went to the door and yelled louder.

"Jon Snow!" she called.

"Stay outside!" he answered from within.

"What? Why?" she asked.

"Just… don't come in," he said, coming to the door.

"Why?" she repeated.

"Can you wait over there, please?" he asked, pointing back to where she had been standing. Then he left her again.

"Th'_hell _I will," she mumbled, going inside, bow at the ready.

It was warmer inside the cottage, but there was a horrid smell. In amongst the odors of must and moldy wood was the stink of death. On her guard, Ygritte's wide, unblinking eyes looked this way and that as she checked each room of the cottage. She found Jon doing something in one of them. It was the room with the worst smell.

"Oh, somethin' died 'ere," she said, bringing her glove to her nose.

"I told you to stay outside!" Jon said, rising from where he knelt.

"An' you don't tell me where t'go 'r what t'do!" she threw back. "Are you al'right?"

"Aye," he said, but he looked behind him.

Ygritte pushed past him to see what he had been fussing over. A bed was there, and he had been wrapping something up in blankets.

"Don't," he said. "I'll take care of it."

Not listening to him, she drew back the blankets. A gaunt and decaying man lay there, with white, wispy hair, cloudy eyes and a haunting expression.

"Oh…" she whispered, sad for this old man she did not even know.

"I told you not to look," Jon said, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Did you think I'd faint?" she asked with a slight grin, but it left her when she looked back at the man. From the look of him, he had not been dead long. _Or maybe 'e 'as, if it's been very cold at night… _She put her arrow back in her quiver. "Tha's why th'animals'r so 'ungry. Their master died."

"I think he died in his sleep. Nothing's amiss. He was curled up here under the blankets when I found him," Jon whispered.

"We should burn 'im," Ygritte whispered back. She was always uneasy around the dead. In battle, it was one thing to see men fall and pass them by, stepping over them here and there whenever necessary. It was quite another to stand and watch a dead man in all his stillness. _Th'mind plays tricks, an' th'corpse seems t'move after a while._ _His eyes seem t'blink an' 'is lips seem to move in 'is silent mutterin' if I stare long 'nough. I _hope_ 'tis a trick o' th'mind… Beyond th'Wall, sometime's it's not..._

"Aye," Jon said, "and the bed, too."

They found corn meal in the barn, as well as several bales of hay. Jon sent Ygritte to feed the animals while he broke apart the bed and dragged it out onto the cleared patch of land that lay before the cottage. There was not much available to make a pyre on such short notice, and so Jon had to make do with what he could. He broke up pieces of rotting wooden furniture and a cart found in and around the cottage and piled them up. Lastly, he dragged the old man out and laid him on top of what he had built. Ygritte placated the horse with hay as Jon struck some flint he had found against the blade of his sword. He sparked a torch he retrieved from an iron basket outside the cottage and tried his best to get the pyre to burn. It took him quite a while to get a good fire going, but when he did, he came to Ygritte.

"It'll burn down, and then we can break up the ashes and bury them," he said.

"Are we stayin' that long?" she asked.

"We can't leave the animals," Jon said.

"We could set 'em free. Animals can fig're out 'ow t'feed themselves if they jus' 'ave their freedom," Ygritte said.

"Ygritte…" he whispered. She could barely hear him over the roar and crackle of the fire. "We could _live_ here."

"Someone'll see th'fire," she said. "Tha's what you said t'me when first we met, d'you remember? You said you'd never burn me 'cause someone'd see th'fire."

"Maybe," he said, ignoring her attempt at humor. "So we hole up here for a while. If no one comes, then-"

"Then what?" she asked. "Won't 'e 'ave family come lookin' for 'im? Don't all you south'rner's 'ave big families?"

"If he lived with anyone else, they'd have come for him by now. He was dead a while," Jon said.

"Not _tha'_ long," she said.

"Even so," he said.

She looked at him, not understanding the point of houses enough to really argue with him.

"What do we have to lose?" he asked. "We can't keep running forever."

"We ain't runnin'," she insisted. "An' we've only been travelin' a week 'r so!" she laughed.

"And you're starting to show," he said.

Caught off guard, she looked down at her belly. She knew he was right, but did not know how he could possibly have noticed.

"We need to find a place to live before you get so heavy that travel becomes a problem," he said.

"I'm _fine_," she said firmly. "Don't talk 'bout me like I'm laid up."

"I didn't mean that you were, but at some point you'll need to slow down. You can't walk all day at nine months along… or eight, or maybe not even seven. What are you now, four?" he asked. "You have-… We both have to think of the baby first. Once it's born and a little older, then we can think about where we might leave off to. But for now-"

"Al'right," she said. "We'll try't. But if I 'ate it 'ere-"

"We'll leave," he agreed.

They camped outside under the stars the first few nights until the smell had left the cottage. Jon cleaned it and tended the animals, leaving Ygritte to her own devices. She liked the animals well enough, but she knew next to nothing about the upkeep of cottages. Thus, she helped in the best way she could, by hunting at the forest's edge that existed about a mile from the cottage.

Jon worried for her each time she left. She could see it on his face and in his eyes whenever she set out and then again when she returned. _But 'e never tells me not t'go. He lets me do as I please. Not like 'e could stop me… _For weeks, nothing and no one bothered them. It was as if they had found a niche of Westeros about which no one cared. No one but themselves. _Per'aps that 'ad been th'appeal o' th'land for that old man. Maybe 'e liked 'is solitude. Maybe 'e liked 'is freedom._

One day, Ygritte returned with a pig and two pheasants strapped to her back to find that Jon had been very busy in his own right. She tended to her catches, skinning and plucking them and cutting their meat while he asked her to wait until he was done with whatever it was he was doing. When he called her inside the cottage, she had no idea what to expect.

He had made them a bed that was more of the sort Ygritte was used to. She had not known what the point of the wooden frame was when they had found the old man. She was used to sleeping on the ground with only a mess of skins to soften it and keep her warm. Jon knew this, and so he had made them a bed of hay upon which he laid out the pelts from Ygritte's kills. With quiet pride, he watched her first sit upon it and then lay down. Sprawling her arms out and grinning at him, she had to admit that she liked it.

"It's soft, an' warm," she said. "I could nod off on't right now if I'm not careful."

"Not yet," he said. "I've one more thing to show you."

Ygritte sat up as he went to the other side of the room and lifted something wooden, bringing it to her. It was a cradle, of just the proper size for an infant. When she laid her hand on the side of it, she realized it rocked if she pushed it. Smiling at it, she could almost feel tears in her eyes. She fought them back, though, and collected herself.

"I'm thinking… _rabbit_ fur… would fill this in nicely," he said, grinning at her. "Something very soft."

"I might be able to 'elp you out wit' that," she whispered.

"I was hoping you would," he whispered back.

Jon lay down with her on their bed and she sought his embrace. They awoke several hours later, and Ygritte had to admit to him that the bed was very effective.

**Fragment IX – Fever Dream (Jon)**

Weeks went by, and then months. There were times when Jon worried about their arrangement. It was easy to forget several things in the peaceful valley as they lived their life in the cottage they had made their own. He almost forgot that she had yet to forgive him and that he was an oath breaker, condemned to death should the Night's Watch find him. He almost forgot that the wildlings had, by now, attacked the Wall. He also wondered how long they could remain there without any repercussions. They had no coin, except for the few bits he had found inside the cottage. No one had come to collect any taxes, however. He supposed he had the war to thank for that. _They probably do not have the time or the extra men to spare for so little coin in these remote regions._

Ygritte was eight months along now – _eight months and some days or weeks, she said, for she was not even sure herself_ – and that worried him, too. Try as she did to maintain her freedom and independence, she had been forced to stop hunting one month prior. At five months, she began to teach Jon how to hunt, for he would need to do it for her when she grew so heavy that such physical exertion was dangerous for the baby. He was horrible at it, but her smile as she laughed at him made everything better for him. _I remember how I used to mock Bran for his poor aim. Would that I could have even a short moment more with him –with all of them – back there in Winterfell. Father would watch us from above as my brothers and I practiced. I should have practiced more. I should have treasured it all so much more._ _Had I but known… _

It was not until Ygritte was seven months along that Jon could hunt with any proficiency, well enough to feed them both. That was when she laid down her bow. The silent sadness on her face had bothered him greatly. Her fingertips traced the line of the bow, lingering where her hand would grip it tightly if she were to use it. She said nothing, but Jon knew it grieved her to part with it. Ygritte's bow was more than just a weapon or a tool to feed and protect them both, it was a friend to her, a companion. More weight and meaning was carried within the wood and horn and sinew of that bow for Ygritte than Jon would ever understand, and yet he was keenly aware of its existence. She wielded her spear well enough, but she _loved_ her bow. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he tried to console her. _You'll hunt again. You're not leaving it forever, you're only protecting the baby by taking it a little easier. I know you'll be hunting again the day after you bear it,_ he had said with a grin.

_You know nothing, Jon Snow,_ she had replied without lifting her eyes from it. _Take care of it for me._

The heavier she got, the sadder she grew. Jon did not understand why. He supposed that it was her inability to hunt, to wander, to be in the wilds as she wished, for she herself was wild. The baby – much as she loved it and wanted it – was stifling her freedom. It was more than that, though. Sometimes he found her sitting alone, a deep furrow in her brow and a concerned countenance. He would watch her for a time, so certain that she knew he was there, but then she would startle a little and manage a forced smile for his benefit.

"What's wrong?" he asked her one day when he found her doing it.

She looked at him as if she might say, but then shook her head. That same forced smile came to her lips. "Nothin'."

"Tell me. Please," he said.

"It's nothin'. Really," she insisted, but Jon knew it was a lie. It was there in the way her eyes darted around, blinked too fast. It was there in the corners of her mouth as the smile she had drawn out with so much effort faded quickly away.

One night, she had asked him if he knew what a fever dream was. Jon knew what he _thought_ it was, that being the sort of dream born of sickness and delirium when one suffered a dangerous fever. The things men saw in their minds during such fevers could be terrifying, and some attributed them to some kind of divine punishment. _Aye, divine, _she had said to him then,_ tha's what they are. Th'gods send us messages in dreams, if't please 'em. They rack your soul an' strain your mind an' give your body fever. Those're th'dreams you wake from screamin'. Those're th'ones that mean somethin'. _He did not understand what she meant and, much to his disappointment, she did not venture to explain herself.

He mulled over everything in his head daily. He might have thought her sadness was due to their situation, but for the fact that Ygritte seemed happy enough most often. She had even acclimated a little to life south of the Wall. On a whim, Jon had bought her a simple dress at a village a few miles from their home where he traded wool, eggs and milk. It was a source of coin for them to trade whatever they had to give, but on one particular occasion, he came back with a dress instead of coin. Laughing at him, Ygritte did not know what to do with it.

"I don't expect you to wear it all the time. I just thought…" he started, his cheeks flushing.

"That you'd finally get me int'that pretty dress you wanted t'see me in so badly?" she asked with a playful grin. "So you could tear it off me? Hmm?"

"… that it might be a bit more comfortable for you than pants right now," he insisted was the reason. He felt himself flush with heat, however.

Ygritte had been wearing her hide pants, albeit unbuttoned, and fussing with them on a daily basis. She was unable to close her coat around herself, and her hide shirt was too small for her to wear anymore. The dress he had purchased her consisted of a thick woolen skirt, a thin, soft underdress, and a loose, woolen corset vest without any boning that could be buttoned as much or as little as she liked. It was perfect for an expectant woman, the women of the village told him.

Ygritte eyed the dress curiously as a wily look came over her. "Al'right, I s'pose I'll entertain this notion o' yours a bit. Jus' for a moment." She started to undress right there in front of him and he lost all manner of humor in his expression. He stared, at a loss for words, as she slipped off her coat and then her pants. _She's so beautiful,_ he thought, _even heavy with child such as she is now. Maybe she's so beautiful now _because_ of her condition. I never realized how beautiful women grew when they carried a child. Am I noticing now only because it's Ygritte? Because… it's my child? _

Looking over her shoulder, she watched him stare at her for a short time before she spoke. "Don't gawk so. It's not anythin' you 'aven't seen before," she said casually, even though her cheeks flushed. _Is she shy? Ygritte... shy? Is that possible? _She began to grow as timid as Jon had ever seen her as her eyes looked nervously away and her hands slowly rose to lay loosely over her breasts.

_It _is_, though,_ he thought. _I've not seen you unclothed since you told me you were with child._ He went to her and she seemed a little guarded, even as she took her hands away and let her arms hang down by her sides. He looked down at her swollen belly, at how much larger her breasts had grown, at how even her arms and thighs had more meat on their bones than before. Reaching out, he hoped that she would permit him to touch her belly. She did, and he had no words for what he felt. Blinking away the beginnings of tears, he left a lingering kiss on her forehead before tearing himself away from her against everything inside him that screamed at him to hold her.

"Where're you goin'?" she called after him. He looked back. "I don't know 'ow t'put any o' this ridic'lousness on."

He laughed then, despite his emotion, and took to unbuttoning the corset. She had gotten the skirt on well enough, except for the fact that she then slipped the underdress on over it. Shaking his head, he laughed some more at her.

"What?" she asked with spirited annoyance.

"That goes… _under_ the skirt," he said.

"Oh," she said, looking down at herself. "An' 'ow d'ya know so much 'bout women's clothin'?"

"From living with my stepmother and two sisters," he said. "My youngest sister, Arya, was always shedding parts of her dress and exchanging them for pants and a boy's shirt."

"I think… this Arya an' me… would've gotten on rather well," Ygritte said.

"I think so, too," Jon said, but he had said it with an air of playful concern. _Wouldn't that have been a sight to see and a bear to deal with, Ygritte and Arya teaming up against me?_ He suddenly missed his little sister. In amongst all that had happened he wondered… did she have Needle, still? He missed all of his family. The living and the dead. He did not know where Arya was now, or if she even lived, but he thought she might be all right._ If anyone could have survived all that's happened, if anyone could steal away and lay low until the storm had passed, it'd be Arya. She'd find a way. She'd slip through their fingers and be gone into the forest. She's got the wolf's blood in her. Father used to say that. He was right, I'd wager._

"You remind me of her sometimes," Jon whispered.

"Of your sister?" Ygritte asked.

He nodded.

"Why's that?" Ygritte asked with great interest.

"She's smart and clever and she does what she wants when she wants," Jon said with a nostalgic smile, "…and she spoke back to me a lot."

The corner of Ygritte's mouth curved upwards with amusement. "Aye, we'd 'ave gotten on jus' fine."

He lifted the gray skirt and she pushed the white underdress through. He pulled it until it flowed freely around her legs before dropping the skirt. Ygritte drew out some slack around her belly, and once she had gotten it to her liking, he helped her put on the corset vest. She was only able to fasten the two top buttons over her breasts, leaving the rest of the wool to drape over the sides of her swollen belly. Smirking awkwardly, she looked up at him.

"Well? How do I look?" she asked.

"Very cute," he said without thinking.

_"Cute?!"_ she said, punching him in his arm. "There's a word I never want to 'ear uttered 'bout me." Her face contorted into a look half of annoyance and half of embarrassment.

He laughed with her. "You _do_, though. You look… _cute._"

"An' _you_ want t'get _punched_ again," she said, but then her smile left her. She lowered her gaze and her face, closing her eyes for a brief moment. Her hands moved to her belly. She grimaced as if she was in pain.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothin'," she said, but she was lying. He knew her well enough to know that.

"Ygritte…" he said warily.

"I said it's _nothin'_," she said sternly. "Quit worryin'."

"It's not nothing," he said.

"I'm jus' not used t'these clothes is all," she said, but the way her eyes darted around and refused to meet his told Jon that was a lie as well.

"You can take them off if you don't like it," he said.

"No, I… I _do_. Sort of," she said, her face changing into a look of confusion as she fussed with the skirt. "It's a lot better'n pants. For _now_, 'nyways."

"You're actually going to _wear_ it?" he asked.

"Aye, for a time," she said.

Jon slipped his hands under the wool of the corset and laid them on Ygritte's belly. He had a mind to tell her just how beautiful he thought she was, but then he felt something move under his right hand through the thin cloth of the underdress.

_"Oh!"_ Ygritte exclaimed. "Did ya feel that? It's kickin'."

"Is that what that was?" Jon asked excitedly.

"Aye," she whispered.

The baby kicked vigorously once more, and Ygritte smiled with such deep emotion at Jon that she almost looked as if she would cry. Almost, but in the end, no tears fell. Instead, she cautiously laid her forehead against his chest. Jon had been so moved by her expression, but her show of affection truly touched him. He knew she was still guarded around him, still resentful and uncertain, yet she was asking him with just one small gesture to do what he already wanted so badly. Jon drew her to him, as close as he could with their child between them, and wrapped his arms protectively around her. Ygritte nuzzled him just under his chin. He closed his eyes as their noses and lips grazed each other. In that way they stood for quite some time until they slowly parted, but not before Jon whispered to Ygritte that he loved her.

Two more weeks went by without incident, but Ygritte still had moments of pensive thought that concerned Jon. _Something is bothering her, something she doesn't want me to know. _He began to fear the worst._ Does she want to leave me when the baby's born? Does she want me to leave her? I told her I'd be a father to our child. Does she not believe me? She hasn't forgiven me yet. I suppose… there's a chance she never will._

He was outside chopping wood at noonday when the cottage door opened. Ygritte did not emerge right away, but when she did, Jon dropped his axe.

"Jon…" she said, swaying as she slowly wandered out. "Somethin's wrong…"

She was white, even paler than usual. Even her lips had lost their color. Beads of sweat lay on her forehead. One of her hands supported her large belly while the other gripped the wooden doorway for support. Jon ran to her, just as she stumbled.

"What happened?!" he asked frantically.

She groaned in pain, holding the side of her belly. "Nothin' 'appened," she said, gasping.

"Is it coming?" he asked.

"No. I… I don't think so. Not yet," she said.

"Are you hurting? What's wrong?" he asked, desperate to help her.

"I should… I should 'ave told you, but I didn't know 'ow," she said, looking as if she might cry.

"Told me what?" he asked.

"Somethin's not right. I 'ad… a feelin'… some months ago… that somethin' would 'appen… but I… I didn't want to tell you…" she said.

_The fever dreams._ Jon shivered.

"What do you mean, something's not right?" he asked. She stumbled and fell against him, breathing heavily. "Ygritte!" he cried out, lifting her into his arms. She was so weak she could not hold her head up. He carried her inside the cottage and to their bed, laying her down as she groaned again.

"I don't… know," she said. _She looks afraid. When is Ygritte ever afraid of anything?_ "I just… 'ave a feelin'…"

"You're all right," he reassured himself as much as her. "You're just… tired." His words did nothing to comfort either one of them.

She shook her head, suddenly looking so weak. Her eyelids began to fall. Jon watched in horror as her gaze lost its focus. She blinked over and over again and searched around, as if she could no longer see.

"Jon…" she whispered gently but while gripping his arm so tightly he was sure she would give him a bruise. "If somethin' 'appens…"

"No," he said. "No, you're _fine._ You just need to rest."

"If somethin' _'appens_," she said with greater insistence, "promise me… you'll save th'baby."

"You just need to _rest_," he said louder, but he was starting to shake for all his fear.

"Promise," she said. Her words were slurred and her eyes were closing. "You'll save't… before me. An' you'll care for it well. _Promise _me… Jon," She searched for his hand and he enclosed hers in both of his, drawing it to his chest. He was shocked at how cold she was.

"I promise," he vowed.

She swallowed with great difficulty – once, then twice – and then drew in a short, quick breath just before her eyes closed. She was so still just then as her body settled down against the furs. For one hellish moment, Jon thought she had died. He sat in his own silent stillness, watching her face with wide eyes. His heart began to race and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. "Ygritte?" She did not answer him. He smoothed her hair and rubbed her forehead with his thumb. _"Ygritte?!_" he yelled louder. Still, nothing. He touched two trembling fingers to her neck. When he felt the movement of her blood beneath her skin, he loudly released the breath he had been holding and gasped for air. After a short time, he felt so cold. That was when he realized that he had broken out into the sudden and soaking sweat that terror always brought with it.

An hour passed, and though Ygritte breathed, she did not wake. She looked like a corpse to him, with no blood in her cheeks or lips. She was as cold as ice, even when he wrapped her up in furs, and even when he lay beside her to keep her warm. He could not sleep, but rather watched the rise and fall of her chest, drawing in a sharp breath of dread each time she was a bit late in breathing in again. An hour became two, and then three.

He was up and pacing by nightfall. Breathing as though he had run for miles, he walked back and forth. _I can't do this. I _won't._ She'll pull through it._ Yet with each passing hour there was a growing sense of urgency inside him. _Promise me, Jon._

Jon boiled the water first before searching for something he could use as a needle. Finding nothing, he shattered a bit of deer bone and carved one himself, throwing it into the water to boil it as well. He gathered all the clean cloths he could find. He cut a few long, thick hairs from the horse's tail and boiled them as well. With frantic desperation he searched the cottage for a tool that would do the deed. He saw Tormund's knife lying on the table in their meager kitchen and grabbed it. He tossed it in to the boiling water for a time. When the water had cooled enough to be safe to touch, he braided the horsehairs and tied them to the needle. He was ready, and yet he would _never_ be ready.

Shaking violently, he suddenly wished that he had let Sam help Gilly with her child. _At least I would have had half an inkling of how to do this… Although, Gilly probably would have given birth naturally. I have to do this now or I'll lose my nerve. It has to be done. She might not wake up. She might develop a fever. If that happens, the baby… will… You promised her!_

He unbuttoned Ygritte's corset, pulled the underdress out from underneath her skirt and drew it aside, exposing her belly. He washed her skin with the freshly boiled warm water and held the knife at the ready. Tears suddenly flooded his eyes. Going to her, he kissed her lips first and then her forehead.

"I love you, Ygritte," he said. "_So_ much. Forgive me."

_She never forgave me for leaving her, why would she forgive me for cutting her open and tearing our unborn child from her womb?_

**Fragment X – The Gods' Price (Jon)**

He was not sure where to cut, or how deep. Terrified that he would kill Ygritte or slice into their child, Jon tried to steady his hand as he decided upon a place to cut. Three times he raised the knife and once he even touched the blade to her skin, but all three times he had backed away, unable to go any hands shook and thus so did the with himself, he sighed angrily and sat back from the bed.

"_Seven hells!"_ he yelled loudly to himself in a panic. As soon as he did, however, he felt his panic leaving him. Closing his eyes, he called upon something deep inside him. He called upon whatever tenacity had seen him through his Night's Watch training, whatever resolve had helped him brave the Fist of the First Men and beyond, whatever stoic force of purpose had urged him onward after his sword had sliced its way through Qhorin Halfhand's body, and whatever luck of the gods had permitted him to keep his life as he scaled the Wall. He drew in a long, slow breath and released it just as slowly, invoking that strange and scarcely understood strength inside him that seemed to always come to him unbidden in his darkest hours. For the first time in his life he acknowledged its existence, and he humbly bid it now to come and fortify him. Opening his eyes, he touched the blade to Ygritte's skin once more with steady hands and a focused mind.

Jon made the smallest slice at first, watching Ygritte for any sign that she might awaken. She did not, and so he cut a little deeper. Using cloth to blot away the blood, he kept making the wound deeper as carefully as he could. Only about as wide as his hand, the wound bled a lot less than he expected. Quite suddenly, as he sliced a bit deeper, slick fluid poured out. _Was this the water they always spoke of? The water women carried within them to cushion their unborn from harm? _He swiftly bunched up some of his clean clothes and held them to the wound, sopping up the water as it poured out and wanting to keep as much of it from soaking their bed as possible. Clothes could be washed, but if the bed became wet, Ygritte would grow dangerously cold in very little time. When the fluid stopped flowing, he dropped the soaked clothes into a pile in the corner of the room.

Jon now prepared himself for the next step. Washing his hands in the clean water, he drew in a deep breath and held it as he slowly reached inside Ygritte's belly. Her warmth consumed first his right hand and then his left, and in that moment, he hoped that her body would warm him enough to not frighten their child. _Can an unborn child be frightened by cold? Would it harm the baby to be touched by cold hands? _Perhaps the hot water he had boiled a moment earlier had warmed his hands well enough, but the chill of the night air had stripped the warmth from his fingers almost immediately. He let Ygritte's body warm them now – _for only a moment, I must not delay too long _– and then began to gently move his hands around.

He felt something already. _An arm? A leg, maybe? A tiny body… A head!_ Taking hold of the baby, he gradually pulled it out of Ygritte. He was not certain how delicate infants were, for he had little experience with them, and so he was careful not to move too harshly or quickly. Focused but breathing hard and with his mouth agape, he held the baby with one hand inside Ygritte as his other hand stretched the wound he had made to make it easier to maneuver. The head emerged first, and soon the room was filled with tremulous screams and sobs.

"Oh, _gods!_" Jon exclaimed in a trembling voice as he reached his other hand back in to cradle the baby and ease it out. Jon's lips trembled and he fervently blinked away his tears to better see what he was doing. _Why is it that some men treat women so poorly? _he wondered just then._ Men can say what they want of women, but what man could create a new life within his own body? What man could perform what only the gods could do otherwise?_ Once its shoulders were out, the rest of the baby's body slid from Ygritte's belly easily enough. Stunned, Jon knelt holding his child –_ a son! I have a son! _– for only a brief moment before he knew he had to lay the boy aside.

Jon severed the rope of flesh that tied the newborn to his mother with Tormund's knife. He wet one bit of cloth in the still-warm water and used it to wipe the baby clean. Then he swaddled his son in cloth and rabbit fur and laid him down in the cradle, also lined with rabbit fur, such as it was. He laid more soft skins over the boy to shield him from the biting chill of night before returning to Ygritte. He reached inside her one more time, for even he knew that there was an afterbirth to contend with. _Life-threatening fever and sickness could result,_ he remembered Old Nan saying when Lady Catelyn had given birth to Rickon.

Jon had asked then, when the old woman had emerged from his father and stepmother's quarters in a hurry to retrieve more birthing cloths, why she hurried so when he could already hear his brother's cries. He had been there, with little Arya on his lap and Sansa clutching at his arm, for even she had loved him well at that age. They all waited just without the door beside their brother Robb to hear news of the new baby. _There is still more yet to do, _Old Nan had told him. _The gods only go so far, and then the hands of men – or women, more often than not – must help life along._ He had never actually seen any of it happen, though, and words were a poor substitute for experience. Having only a vague idea of what an afterbirth was, he did the best he could in removing it. Wrapping it in cloth, he set it aside, for _there is still more yet to do._

Grabbing the needle and braided horsehair next, he sewed Ygritte up as best he could_. I may have just done everything wrong that I possibly could. I'm certain I did. I didn't know what to do, Ygritte. I'm so sorry. Please, don't leave me. Be strong. You're always so strong… _He washed his hands and arms and then washed her with what remained of the clean water. Next, he padded Ygritte's wound with cloth and a salve she had made for common cuts and abrasions. He did not know if the salve should be used for a dire wound such as this one, but it was the only medicine he had at his disposal. Lastly, he bound her belly with additional cloth wraps, replaced her clothing, and drew their furs up over her.

Sweat-soaked, Jon sat in an exhausted stupor, watching Ygritte breathe, desperately grateful that she still did. He kissed her and smoothed her hair. He lifted her hand and kissed that, too. _Did I do the right thing? Should I have waited longer? Did I wait too long?_ Jon sighed and it turned into a shudder by the end.

His son was whimpering still, although the newborn had not the strength for crying anymore. When Jon's mind was able to move from what he had just done, he went to the baby, reached into his cradle, and lifted him into his arms. The boy was small and red and wrinkled, as much as Jon's siblings had been after their births. As his heart beat wildly, Jon counted various things – _two arms, two legs, ten fingers, and ten toes_ – to reassure himself that his son was unharmed after the ordeal. Black hair lay on the child's head. Jon smiled sadly to see it. _You aren't kissed by fire, little one. That's my fault, I'm afraid. _Oblivious to the fact that his mother lay ill or perhaps dying, the infant settled down and slept soundly in Jon's protective embrace.

He could not take his eyes from his son. Watching the child's innocent, sleeping face, his Night's Watch vows crept into his mind. _I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children,_ he recalled, yet there in his arms was his living, breathing son. Perhaps Ygritte was not his wife, but he loved her deeply and was as devoted to her as a husband should be. This land was not his, and yet he and Ygritte had made it their home. _It's all so wrong._ _I've done so many things that I should regret and feel guilty for, but if everything is so very wrong, why do I not regret any of them?_

_What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms?_ Maester Aemon had said that to him when he was still new to the Watch. Feeling his son's warmth as he held him in his arms, Jon glanced at Ygritte. He loved her in a deeper way than he had ever loved anyone. He loved them both more than anything. He understood now what the old man had meant. _Ygritte's love… and the power of holding my own son against me… they are forces for which I would live and die. The Gods know that. They know for whom I've chosen to disgrace my vows, and now they've punished them to teach me a lesson…_

"Take me instead," he whispered to the Gods. "I was the one who broke my vows to you. Ygritte is innocent to the insult I've dealt you. My son… needs his mother. If a price must be paid for my dishonor, then let it be my own life. Take _me._ _Please… _Let _me_ pay the price for what I have done."

Jon drew the baby close to him and touched his lips to his forehead, wondering if his own father had felt the same awe and quiet reverence when he held Jon for the first time. After what seemed like hours, Jon laid the boy in his cradle and ventured to try to sleep.

He eventually fell asleep beside Ygritte. It was a fitful slumber, disturbed by hellish nightmares that brought to life his greatest fears. In one, he saw Winterfell burning to the ground. In another, he was outside the cottage, about to set fire to a pyre like the one he had built the day they came upon the dead farmer. Except this time, it was Ygritte's body on the pyre. Snow fell gently onto his hair and shoulders as he drew a torch to the brush that was packed underneath the pyre. As the flames began to consume her, Jon thought he saw her move. When her eyes opened, he awoke with a terrified shout, rolling off the bed and slamming his back and head into the wall.

Jon grunted and rubbed his head, shocked back into coherence. He had been pulled from a harrowing and deep place. Blinking and struggling to sit up, Jon looked around the room in horror. _That was a fever dream, Ygritte. I'm sure of it._ Certain that something had woken him, he immediately looked to her. She breathed still, but would not respond to his touch or his words. Next he went to the baby. The tiny boy slept soundly in his cradle.

He adjusted the soft pelts around his son, tucking them this way and that, until he heard what had drawn him out of his nightmare. A wolf's howl. On point, Jon lifted his head and waited to hear it again. After a short time, he did. He ran from the cottage, bursting out into the cold night air, for it was not just any howl he had heard. This one he recognized. Ghost hardly ever made a sound unless it was absolutely necessary. Jon knew he was calling him.

_"Ghost!"_ he cried out excitedly, looking around, but then he felt that something was behind him. He never heard Ghost coming, but he knew he was there. Jon turned and saw his friend staring at him. "Hey, boy…" he said, kneeling down. Ghost came to him and sniffed his face and hair as Jon patted his shoulder and scratched behind one of his soft, thick ears. "I missed you."

Ghost gave a quick lick to Jon's nose, making him laugh, but then continued to stare. The dire wolf's red eyes were visible even in the meager light of the crescent moon.

"How in the seven hells did you find me here? It's been _ages._ I thought we'd parted ways forever," Jon asked, chuckling and shaking his head. He was so relieved to see his dear friend alive and well.

The wolf licked him once more before wandering to the cottage door. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at Jon, waiting for him. Jon led him to where Ygritte and the baby lay. Ghost went to Ygritte first, curiously sniffing her. His large snout nuzzled first her hand, then her shoulder, and finally her face.

"This is Ygritte, Ghost," Jon said, kneeling by the wolf and putting his arm around him. He laid his hand on her forehead and caressed her damp hair. "She's… someone I love very much," he said, thinking how best to explain her to the wolf. Not knowing if Ghost could truly understand his words or not, Jon tried his best. "She's my _mate._"

Ghost whimpered and squealed as he tenderly licked Ygritte's cheek and then her neck.

"I know…" Jon said a lump rising in his throat. "She's not well."

But Ghost was now interested in the much smaller body that lay on the other side of Ygritte's bed. The wolf went to the cradle and looked inside with all the intent curiosity of a person. His ears flicked this way and that as his wide red eyes watched the baby. Slowly and carefully, Ghost began to lick the top of the boy's head. The baby's black hair stuck straight up where the wolf had licked.

"That's my son. Mine and Ygritte's," Jon explained. "They need our protection, boy, especially the little one. We've got to keep them safe."

Ghost climbed onto the bed with Ygritte and sniffed her extensively. He buried his snout deep in the furs and smelled her clothes and hair, learning her scent. Then he lay down beside her, his back tracing the line of her body, pressed up against it. His head, however, faced the cradle as he settled down to rest. Jon smiled at this, for he knew exactly what Ghost was doing. He was guarding them both. Ghost breathed deeply and heaved a heavy sigh, resting but with vigilant eyes. On Ygritte's other side, Jon slept far more soundly than before with the peace of mind Ghost afforded him.

In the morning, Jon was able to leave the cottage to hunt. He had planned on killing one of the chickens, perhaps, to keep himself fed until Ygritte woke. If_ she wakes._ _It's been so long…_ He could not very well leave her vulnerable and the baby unattended. With Ghost to defend them, however, Jon was confident that they would be safe during his absence. Thanking Ghost for his help, he left with Ygritte's bow and arrows for a short time, and returned with a plump wild pig.

Ygritte had discovered the pigs in the forest nearby some months ago. Jon did not even know wild pigs lived this far north, but these were bristly animals with thick hides that kept them warm. They were vicious things, too, and so Jon did not wonder for very long at how they were able to survive. As sour as their personalities were, their meat was quite delicious and savory. He had a mind to boil the bones of his kill and make stew out of the tender meat, but not before he gave Ghost one of the pig's thick hind legs in payment for his guard work. The wolf quickly stripped the bones of their meat and then lay down, gnawing on them in contentment.

**Fragment XI – Your Eyes (Ygritte)**

Ygritte awoke in such excruciating pain. Her eyes flickered open slowly. As they adjusted to the bright light of the room, she let her head fall to the left where the sun poured in through a small window. Lethargic and weak, she stared at the shining rays, watching bits of dust fly around like insects, in and out of the light.

All the pain was in her belly. Looking down, she was alarmed to notice how much flatter it was. She was not wearing her corset or skirt, so she just lifted the neck hem of her underdress and looked down at herself. Around her abdomen was a thick bandage. She had to pull up the dress to reach the bandage. Even though she was in agony, she needed to know what had been done to her. _I need to see't for meself…_

Ygritte was not strong enough – nor could she bear the pain of it – to arch her back and fully unravel the bandage around her waist. She lifted it up as well as she could and peered underneath it. She could barely see the long wound, but she knew exactly what it was. It was stitched closed and so very tender, but it looked clean enough. A remedy in the form of a clear, pasty substance had been slathered onto the worst of the wound. She gently let go of the bandage and laid her hands lightly over it, closing her eyes as she felt the wound throb a little.

_Jon took't from me. Our baby. He cut it out o' me. I must 'ave been in a very bad way for 'im t'do that. _She looked around the room and did not see either of them. For a fleeting moment, she was scared that he had taken the child and left her to die. _No, he wouldn't do that. Not after 'e bothered t'sew me up an' bind me so careful like. He _wouldn't._ I… I trust you, Jon._

As if in response to her thoughts, Jon entered the room with a squirming and cooing bundle in his arms. He sat down cross-legged on the floor near their bed and Ygritte could just make out the baby's head amidst the swaddling. _Dark, sloppy hair, jus' like Jon's._ She smiled as tears came to her eyes. The infant's tiny hands reached up to grab at the water skin Jon was dangling. Cloth protruded from the open mouth of the skin, and as Jon turned it on end, Ygritte saw milk soak the cloth. The baby nursed from it quietly and she suddenly felt an ache deep inside to hold her child.

Jon glanced up at her for only a moment as he had no doubt done a hundred times already that day and then looked back down at the baby. This time, however, he had noticed that she was awake. His eyes shot back up and his mouth hung open in shock before he burst forth with hopeful excitement.

_"Ygritte?!"_ he yelled, rising to his feet and setting the skin down. The baby started to whimper and grunt eagerly for the milk, but Jon's attention was on her. He went to her side and she strained to see her child. "Are you all right?!" he asked her desperately.

"Wha…?" she began to ask, but her bottom lip trembled violently. Tears fell down the sides of her face. Closing her eyes, she waited for a wave of weakness and dizziness to pass. When she opened them again, she still could not see the baby clearly enough for all her tears.

"You're _crying…_" Jon pointed out in disbelief. He wiped the sides of her face with his free hand. "Shh… Don't cry…"

"Wha' is it?" she asked with barely a sound, for her emotion had all but stolen her voice away.

"A boy," Jon said proudly, smiling and showing him off to her. "He's _perfect,_ Ygritte. Healthy and strong." She reached for the baby eagerly, pushing through her pain, and he wasted no time in laying him in her arms. "Here," he whispered with his lips against her temple as he slid his arms out from under the infant. Jon then slipped one arm around her shoulders, gently lifting her up a little so she could better hold the baby.

Ygritte stroked her son's soft head of unruly, black hair, smiling down at him. Her tears dropped down onto the rabbit skins he was wrapped in. She took hold of his small hand and watched as he curled his fingers around her thumb. Drawing the warm, tiny hand to her lips, she kissed it. _"Oh…"_ she sighed lovingly, holding her son's hand against her lips for a time. "Hello, sweet one…" she whispered. "My sweet wee one…"

"He has your eyes," Jon whispered.

She saw the blue in them even before he said it. More tears fell down her cheeks as she looked up at Jon. "An' your mess o' black curly hair," she said.

"Aye…" he said shyly, running his fingers through it. It fell back over his eyes as it usually did.

Just then, a large white wolf padded silently into the room. Its haunting red eyes met hers and it stopped suddenly. Instantly, Ygritte shielded the baby in her arms, drawing him close to her. "Jon!" she said nervously.

"Don't be afraid of him," Jon reassured her. "That's Ghost. He's my dire wolf." He turned to the wolf and waved at him. "Come," he said kindly, and the wolf obeyed.

"_Your…_ dire wolf?" Ygritte asked in disbelief.

"We've been together since he was a pup," Jon said with a wide grin. "He'll not hurt you. In fact, he guarded you both while I went hunting this morning."

"He's white as all winter, that one," she mused.

"Aye," Jon said with a smile.

"How did you come to 'ave a dire wolf? An' 'ow come I've never seen 'im before?" Ygritte asked, relaxing a little as Ghost sat by the bed and eyed her curiously.

"That's a bit of a tale," Jon said, thinking of that day when he, his father, and his brothers had come across the dire wolf pups near the body of their mother. "We separated shortly before I met you. I… I couldn't take him with me. He has a way of finding me, though."

Jon mussed up the wolf's white fur as Ygritte tentatively held out her hand for Ghost to smell. Ghost sniffed her and then permitted her to stroke his snout.

"He's an impressive animal," Ygritte whispered.

"He's a dear friend and a good protector," Jon said. "If anyone tries to harm you or the baby, he'll be there to stop them, be sure of that."

"Tha's a comfort," she said, "with me laid up, such as I am."

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked her again as he drew back her hair from her neck and kissed her there. "I thought I was going to lose you. I've been so worried since… I _had_ to, Ygritte. I thought… You were so ill, and…"

"You did what needed doin' t'protect th'baby," she said stoically, "like you promised."

Jon swallowed hard. "I didn't… I didn't know if you'd… You wouldn't wake up and I didn't know why."

"I'm fine, now," she said with conviction, though she was not sure of that at all. She felt well enough, save for the waves of weakness and the pain of the wound in her belly, but the reason why she fell ill – _an' why my instincts an' th'gods warned me of't so far beforehand_ – was still unknown to her. "Don't worry so."

Jon laughed very nervously at that. Ygritte drew out one of her breasts from her underdress and held her son close to it. After some encouragement, he started to nurse. A hard lump rose in her throat as she continued to cry. The ache she felt when she saw Jon holding him – the jealously that he was in his arms and not hers and the wanting that had followed it – subsided now that her son was at her breast.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Ygritte usually did not cry, but at that moment, she did not know how to stop. _Th'last time I wept was when Jon betrayed me an' left an' I shot 'im full o' arrows,_ she recalled. She looked at him now, transfixed by his humble expression as he watched their son nurse. _He loves us both so much. 'Tis there in 'is eyes. He did what I asked of 'im. He kept our wee one safe, an' all while alone an' so afraid. I can still see 'is fear, behind those dark eyes I love so well, an' yet 'e did jus' as 'e promised. He did right by me, an' by our son._

Ghost laid his head and large, padded front paws on Ygritte's legs, but his eyes remained on her and the baby. Fussing with the soft, white and gray rabbit pelts their son was wrapped in, she drew them tight around him, making sure he was warm enough. As if to exert free will already at his young age, the baby squirmed and pushed out one of his arms from his mother's careful swaddling and laid his hand against her breast. She grinned widely to see it. With the tip of her finger, she caressed the soft skin on the back of his diminutive hand.

"I suppose I won't be needing the cow's milk any longer," Jon said with a chuckle. He kissed Ygritte's temple and held her as well as he could without jostling her too much. "Thank the gods you live," he whispered.

"I forgive you," she whispered back.

He was quiet for so long, and then, "What did you say?"

She met his gaze. "I forgive you, Jon Snow."

"For… taking him out of you?" he asked, but there was such hope on his face and in his voice that she had meant something else.

"No," she said. "For leavin' me. For betrayin' me. I forgive you."

He looked so shocked, so caught off guard, but when he dropped his eyes and smiled so softly, she knew that he had heard and understood her well enough. He bowed his head and touched his lips to her shoulder as he held her from behind, remaining like that until she spoke again.

"What should we call 'im?" she asked, wiping her tears with one hand while the other cradled the baby.

"I've-" Jon began, but then he stopped.

"You've…?" she coaxed him. "You've what?"

"I've been… calling him… 'Tor'," he said.

Ygritte watched Jon's face, so shy and boyish, such as it was. He scratched his head and looked away, embarrassed by what he had said. "It's um… short for-"

"I know what it's short for," Ygritte said, grinning affectionately at Jon before looking down at the baby again. His blue eyes had closed, but he continued to nurse. His little nostrils flared every now and then, and the fingers of his tiny hand squeezed her breast where it lay. She stroked his dark, wispy hair – _it already 'as a bit of a curl to't_ – and the side of his face gently. "But o' course y'know e'd kill us if 'e knew," she said, her eyes narrowing with spirited concern.

Jon laughed out loud to that and then kissed her temple once more. "No, just _me._"

Ygritte nodded with conviction. "Tor, then," she said with an air of finality. "I like it."

"Really?" Jon asked.

"Aye," she said.

They fell silent while Tor finished nursing and then Jon carefully took him from Ygritte. Rubbing the baby's back a little before laying him down, Jon pushed the crib closer to the bed so Ygritte could see him from where she lay. Then he fetched her some water to drink and something else that tasted terrible. She made a sour face.

"It's bad, I know, but it'll ease your pain," he said. "I acquired a few things from the village. I… I always assumed you'd wake."

She smiled pensively at the fear in his eyes that told her otherwise.

"It should only be a short while and then you'll feel it working," he whispered, taking the empty wooden cup from her and handing her the water again. She finished that as well and then laid her head back exhaustedly. Jon caressed her forehead tenderly and then kissed it. "You should rest, still," he said with concern. "I'm not sure how well that stitching will hold. Best to just lie still until you've healed enough." He touched the back of his hand to her forehead first and then the side of her neck. "You're warmer, though, and you're color is better even than it was this morning, but you shouldn't strain yourself overmuch. Thank the _gods_…" He stared at her as though he was afraid to turn away, lest she might disappear.

"I will," she whispered. "I'll rest. I promise." _This pain's too fierce t'do anything else wit', even if I 'ad a mind to._

"I'm cooking something," he said with a half-hearted chuckle. "We'll see how well it turns out. I'm no cook, that's for sure."

"Is that what smells so good?" she asked.

"Don't mock me," he said, laughing.

"I'm not! It really does smell nice," she said, smiling wearily at him. "Same as… pork 'r th'like."

"Aye, I killed a pig this morning in the forest. Well, let's hope it tastes as good as it smells, then. I wouldn't get your hopes up too high, if I were you. Pray for it to be _edible_, at least," he said.

"I'm sure it'll be plenty edible," she said, smiling at all his fussing.

"Oh, um… your bow is there," he said, nodding to the floor beside the bed, "and your quiver."

She grinned even wider as he began to wander away. "Ain't like I'll be doin' much shootin' 'nytime soon," she said, but she touched her hand to her bow all the same.

"I know, but it's your bow, not mine, and you made those arrows with your own hands. They should be at your side when I'm not using them," he said respectfully. He almost brought tears to her eyes again with his tender words. "I'll wake you in a couple of hours when the stew's ready. You should try to eat some then," he said. "You need your strength, and you've him to feed."

She nodded, but reached her hand out to him. Ghost lifted his head, watching as Jon came to her dutifully and held her for a moment longer.

"I love you," he whispered.

"An' I, you," she whispered back.

"I'm honored to have your forgiveness, Ygritte," he said with reverent solemnity. "More than I can express in words."

They parted and Jon let his hand linger on her cheek. Ygritte leaned into it, taking comfort in his warmth. He left her to rest, pausing by the doorway for only a moment as she called to him one last time.

"Jon Snow…" she said.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Don't ever betray me again," she said firmly, but then she smiled, just a little.

He returned her smile and shook his head. "You have my _word._" She raised an eyebrow to that. Ghost's head tilted to the side. Jon chuckled, but then a quiet solemnity came over him. _"Truly,"_ he said sincerely to her. "My life is yours. Yours and his." He nodded toward their son.

"Aye, it better be," she said, smiling more freely now. "An' I'm puttin' me reg'lar clothes back on soon as I'm out o' this bed!" she groaned with a distasteful frown as she looked down at her dress. "I don't feel like meself in all o' this mess."

"Of course you will," Jon said with a slight nod, gazing at her with such love in his eyes. "You staying, Ghost?"

The wolf crossed his front paws over Ygritte's legs again, laid down his head, and sighed.

"Is it all right if he stays?" Jon asked Ygritte.

"Aye," she said, for she was no longer afraid of the wolf. "If 'e's your friend, then 'e'll 'ave t'be mine as well."

Ygritte watched Jon go, and then laid her head down exhaustedly. Her eyes burned, her belly throbbed, her back was stiff, and her throat was sore, but as she looked over at her son resting in his cradle, none of it mattered. She lay there, contented with that vision before her, amazed by the life she had created with Jon.

"How could I ever 'ave thought o' goin' t'war wit' you inside me?" she said to Tor. "I regret not fightin' wit' th'others, but I don't regret keepin' you safe." Laying her hand on the cradle's edge, she rocked little Tor for a short while. The sound of him cooing made her smile. "Hush now, wee one," she whispered. "Time t'sleep… for _both_ of us…"

Ghost yawned widely, bearing his large, sharp teeth. It ended with an idle growl. Ygritte glanced down to where he lay and saw the wolf's unblinking, red eyes on hers. They looked nothing like Jon's eyes – _not th'shape 'r th'color 'r th'size of 'em_ – and yet she felt that Jon was there with her when she looked into them. She wondered if Ghost was anything like Orell's eagle, for he seemed to be more than just a dire wolf. Wolves were smart, she knew, but this one was even smarter. He watched her with intent and intelligence she had never seen of other wolves. He was heavy on her legs, but warm and soft as well. Her eyelids began to drop.

"Safe an' sound wit' th'likes o' you t'protect us, aren't we now, proud one?" she whispered to Ghost. As if he had understood her, he lifted his head and sat regally with it held high and his broad chest pushed forward. Ygritte stroked the fur of one of Ghost's large front paws, the only one she could reach. The wolf took to licking the hand that touched him as she felt the remedy Jon gave her begin to dull her pain. The sudden relief soothed her and soon her eyelids were heavy and falling more insistently. She drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming of Jon and Tor.

**Fragment XII – Winter is Coming (Jon)**

It was several days before Ygritte's pain lessened enough for her to sit up in bed, and even longer before she could be up and about in any real capacity. Until that time, Jon was attentive to her every need and cared for Tor, all while tending the animals and hunting sometimes in the mornings. It seemed that most days he did not stop moving once from dawn to dusk, busy with the day's work.

He never left Ygritte for very long, and when he did, Ghost was left behind to guard her. The women who lived in the village just an hour's walk from the cottage had sold him various remedies for pain, some in the form of roots or dried, pressed herbs that Ygritte could suck on and others in the form of teas. They were careful, they said, to give him remedies that were safe for infants as well, for his love was a nursing mother, after all. Jon was grateful for their kind assistance. He was certainly no herbalist.

Jon could tell when Ygritte was in too much pain, for although she never asked for any of the remedies or told him that she was hurting, he always noticed the beads of sweat on her forehead, the slight furrow in her brow, or the strain in her eyes. He kept after it, making sure Ygritte was as comfortable as he could make her. She cursed him sometimes and told him that he fussed over her too much, but she accepted the remedies all the same.

He did not mind being as busy as he was. _I like that there isn't a specific agenda in any of this other than to care for those I love. I'm not deceiving anyone. I'm not fighting anyone. I'm not planning my next move in a war or battle or bout or venomous conversation. I'm just _living._ I'm here with Ygritte and my son, living my life. How strange it is to not be moving toward anything more complicated than that. Is this how my father felt at Winterfell, before King Robert took him from it all? If so, how pained he must have been to leave such simplicity behind, of living solely for the sake of one's family… with no other motive than love… and no other ambition but protection and survival…_

And that was exactly who Jon was now. He was a father, a lover, a friend, and a protector. He lived his life solely for Tor, Ygritte and Ghost, working all day until he collapsed beside Ygritte in their bed as the sun set in the west. He brought his love materials for making arrows and gave her all the skins and pelts from his kills for her to work with, for the boredom of staying in bed was maddening to her and she required constant distraction. He would always find time to hold his son, to play with him and speak to him, whenever he could. It was an exhausting but satisfying existence. When he had the time for it, he would sit by Ygritte as she made her arrows, rocking Tor in his arms. It was those times, when all of them – even Ghost – were together in one room as a true family should be, that made it all worthwhile.

Once Ygritte was well enough to take care of herself, she reclaimed her bow and spear and took over all the hunting. Jon had no qualms about that, since she brought back her game in a third of the time he managed. Archery was a passion for Ygritte, whereas for Jon it was only a means to an end. He saw an improvement in her mood immediately after she returned to hunting. Lying in bed all day did not suit her at all.

When she was on her feet again, Jon found himself retiring to bed before her each night. On one occasion, however, she surprised him by waiting for him in bed. She kissed him passionately, and he knew what she had on her mind. He was nervous at first, for not only was she still healing from the wound he gave her, but it was the first time since he almost left her behind that she had wanted to be with him.

It began playfully enough, but soon took on a solemn seriousness. She lay down as he kissed her between her breasts and downward still, until he unfastened the button on her pants and drew them down. He saw the red and purple scar where he had taken Tor from her and drew his fingertips over it softly and contemplatively. Lowering his lips to her skin, he kissed her there, too.

"I am sorry for your pain," he whispered.

"Don't be," she whispered back. "It gets better each day."

"How can I not be?" he asked. "I put a child in you. You suffered because of me."

"An' who did all th'coaxin' t'get you t'do so?" she asked.

"Only at the beginning…" he said with a shy grin, just as he had that day long ago, before they had scaled the Wall together.

"Only at the beginning," she agreed, nodding and remembering.

He sighed and laid his head down against her belly.

"You put Tor in me, tha's true," she said, "but then ya saved 'im, an' _me too_, most like. So the way I figure't, you've got a clean start."

"We shouldn't do this," he whispered, lifting his head and pushing up her pants. "The next child could take your life on its way out of you."

"'Tis th'force o' life t'create new wee ones an' send others of us off to th'After," she said.

Her words did nothing to encourage Jon. He swallowed hard.

"'Member some days ago when I went up t'the village?" she asked.

"Aye," he whispered.

"Well… let's just say I won't 'ave to 'ave 'nymore wee ones if I don't want," she said.

"They had moon tea there?" he asked.

"Somethin' like't," she said. "They taught me 'ow t'make it from what's t'be found 'round 'ere."

"Oh," he said. After a moment, he smiled.

"Oh? Is that all you're goin' t'say?" she asked playfully as she wiggled and pushed her pants back down over her hips and thighs and then ran her fingers through his hair.

"Should I keep on kissing you, then?" he asked.

"Aye," she sighed. "You know 'ow t'kiss me jus' right."

"I thought I knew nothing," he said affectionately.

"Hmm… You know _some_ things," she admitted.

The nights were sweet, but the mornings were always demanding. Now that Ygritte had healed enough, however, she was able to aid Jon considerably with the work to be done in and around their cottage. His favorite moments, however, were the times they spent with their son.

Ygritte was a different woman when she was with Tor. Jon enjoyed watching her play with the baby, for she was almost like a child herself. She laughed more openly and loudly than he had ever heard her do before, and her expressions of pride, awe and wonder at every little thing Tor did warmed Jon's heart even on the North's coldest days. Sometimes though, his smile left him as he watched them. _The world will try to take Tor away from us. Winter will. Men will. War will. They'll try to take Ygritte away from me, too. I'd die for her if need be, and we'd each of us die for Tor. Will that be enough to keep them safe? It's all I have to give…_

Tor was an energetic and happy baby, with plump rosy cheeks, large blue eyes, and black curls that Ygritte did not permit Jon to cut. She liked the way they stuck out from his head at every angle. Tor's skin was pale, like Ygritte's, and after a few months spent outside with his mother each day as she went about her business, he had already gotten a few tan freckles on his nose and cheeks.

One brisk but sunny afternoon, Ygritte met Jon and Ghost as they returned from a journey to the village. They had been gone all morning, up to the village nearest their cottage to sell the horse and the last of their sheep. Jon smiled happily as Ygritte passed Tor to him. At six months old, the boy was immensely curious about everything. He immediately started to play with the folds of Jon's fur coat, fascinated by them, even though he was dressed in more of the same.

"There's my boy," he said, kissing the child's forehead. Tor treated Jon to a wide grin.

Ghost went off on his own, sniffing the ground and making the rounds across the small farm and to the back of the cottage. He scouted the land each time they returned to it, making sure nothing lurked about that might mean Jon and his family harm.

"So?" Ygritte asked, inquiring about the sales.

"Sheep are sheep," Jon said, shrugging, "but the horse was in really good shape. We kept him well enough, so he should've been. He fetched a decent price. We've got a nice pot to fall back on if we need it."

"We're good t'leave, then?" she asked.

"Aye," he said nodding.

He leaned into her and kissed her. He tried to make his answer sound confident, but in truth he was worried. Yet, he knew Ygritte could not live a quiet domestic life forever. She _wanted_ to, that was plain to see, but her wild nature was not to be denied. She needed to run and hunt and roam. She needed to be out under the stars, not confined under a roof. It was in her blood to wander the wilds. Jon had noticed her restlessness of late and knew that it was time for them to leave. The cottage had been a safe place for them, however, and he hated to leave it behind. _It won't be safe indefinitely, though. No place will, once winter comes._

They had been preparing to leave for about a month. Ygritte was rendered physically fragile after Tor was born, recovering slowly both from the wound in her belly and whatever illness had threatened her life. Weakness, dizzy spells, and back pain plagued her almost every day. Jon knew she needed time to recover fully, and he wanted to give Tor a chance to grow a bit bigger before he would entertain any discussion of leaving. Ygritte was healthy now, and Tor was a tough little boy. One day Ygritte came to Jon while he was feeding the horse, pensive and almost sad. _Are we goin' t'stay 'ere always?_ she had asked him, and right then, Jon knew she could not live that way.

His compromise with her was that he wanted to accumulate some coin first in case they needed a room at an inn or ran into any other problems coin could solve. If food became scarce, they might be able to buy it. Ygritte was content to let Jon take odd jobs in the village, earning a little here and there, and had left the sales of all the animals on the farm to him as well. The last animal had been sold, and now she looked to him with hopeful eyes.

"We can leave tomorrow. In the morning. Let's get a good night's sleep and leave at first light," he suggested.

Ygritte smiled so brightly then. It made him feel a bit guilty. He had worried so much for her health and safety, and for Tor as well, but denying Ygritte her freedom – to the very fullest extent she wished it to stretch – was just as detrimental to her health as anything else he had feared. She came alive with such excitement now that she knew they were leaving.

_To me, the wilds are a dangerous and unpredictable place, but Ygritte grew up in them. They're what she knows, what she loves, and what she needs. She minded her own safety more when she was carrying Tor and while he was very small, as I'd wished. Now it's _my_ turn to live as _she_ wishes. I have to set aside my fear and support her. What is it I love most about Ygritte if not her wildness? Tor has wildling blood – no, blood of the _free folk_– so I know he has it in him to master the wilds as well as his mother._

"I bought you something…" Jon said, lowering his pack to the ground and opening it.

"We're s'posed t'be savin' our coin, not spendin' it," Ygritte said, but as he drew the leather item out, she eyed it curiously. "Wha's that?" she asked, crouching down to get a better look with one hand over her belly to protect her still healing scar. She laid Tor on the ground on his stomach. The baby curiously grabbed a fistful of grass and tugged at it.

"It's a sling, meant for a baby," Jon said, lifting it up so she could see how it would hang. "You can carry him on your back when traveling and have your hands free to shoot your bow."

He stood up and so did she, buckling the straps around her shoulders and adjusting them to fit tighter as she watched him. Then he lifted Tor and slid him into the sling. The baby's legs dangled out the bottom, but his head and arms were nestled against the back of Ygritte's neck and shoulders. She turned her head and Tor reached out to touch her chin. He could just barely reach her with his short arms. She grabbed his arm playfully, pulled off his mitten, drew his tiny hand to her lips, and kissed it three times in quick succession. The loud noises her lips made and the tickling of his hand caused the baby to first smile at her and then giggle loudly. Tor continued to giggle as Ygritte slipped his mitten back on.

"See, he fits snugly against you. It'll help keep him warm to be so close to you, and we can line it with fur to protect him even more. The straps can be loosened, so I can carry him, too," Jon said. He laid his hand against Tor's head, over the leather cowl Ygritte had made to keep his ears warm. Tor looked to him and showed him a bright smile. The cowl did its job well enough, but was unable to fully contain all of Tor's wayward black curls. He took note of how much his son looked like him_. Except for his eyes. He has my love's eyes._ Tor exclaimed something in a language only he understood and Jon smiled to hear it.

Ygritte said nothing in response to his purchase, but only grinned at him as Tor played with her red hair. Jon could tell from her expression that she liked the sling, but if that did not indicate her approval, the fact that she carried Tor around on her back for most of the day as she went about her business certainly did.

That night, Ghost slept near Tor's wooden crib in his small room. Jon and Ygritte made love on their bed of furs and fell asleep beside each other. Ygritte fell asleep before Jon, her head pillowed by his chest. Lying there and considering how far he had come in a year's time, Jon felt the weight of the choices he had made. _What if I hadn't come back to Ygritte?_ _I never would have known she was with child. I would have gone back to Castle Black and given damaging information to the Night's Watch about Mance's invasion. The free folk would have attacked the castle… and there would have been casualties. What if Ygritte had died in battle? Or worse, what if I had met her on the battlefield? She would have still been carrying all that rage and sadness inside her, born of my betrayal, but she would also have been carrying our son. We would never have known he was a son at all if Ygritte had died. Would I have noticed it, the swell of her belly, if I found her dead or dying inside Castle Black at the battle's end?_

Jon shuddered, for the horror of all those questions made his heart race. _Thank the gods I went back. For whatever hell it has earned me in the life after this one, and for however I have damned my eternal soul by breaking my vows to the gods, I thank them for whatever sense they instilled in me that made me turn back. Whatever sense it was, good or bad, I will thank the gods for it for all the rest of my days._

Ygritte shivered a little in her sleep and pressed against him even more. Jon drew their furs higher over her bare shoulders and under her chin as he held her close. Laying his cheek against her forehead, he closed his eyes.

_It won't be easy, out there wherever we choose to go. Winter is coming, but Ygritte and I, we have the blood of the North in our veins. Tor does, too. We'll weather the storms, somehow. My black Crow's wings are broken beyond repair. I've made my choice, and now I must defend it. I do know some things. I know I love her, and she loves me. I know I'd die for her, or for our son, if need be. I know I can never go back to who and what I once was._

In the morning, Ygritte brewed the closest thing to the wildlings' moon tea that could be made south of the Wall. She had found some of the components herself, and others she had purchased from the village. Having learned a few different recipes for teas that the village women swore by, Ygritte was confident that she could make at least one type of tea wherever they might wander.

As much as they both loved Tor, a second child would be exceedingly difficult to manage. Beyond that, Jon was worried about the dangers of a second pregnancy for Ygritte. She managed well enough with Tor in the end, but they were not sure why she had fallen ill, and decided it was best not to tempt the gods.

Ygritte watched his expression now as she drank her tea. He knew he must have looked glad to see her drinking it. In time, she grinned deviously. Jon knew what she would ask. "We still leavin'? Ya said t'day'd be th'day," she said, reminding him of something he had not forgotten. He could see how eager she was to go.

He nodded and started to collect their supplies of food, furs and tools outside the door of the cottage. Ygritte nursed Tor, humming a tune Jon did not recognize as she held him in her arms. She caressed his head and cheek, gazing down at him with such love in her eyes. Jon smiled at her when she looked up from where she sat in their kitchen. Sitting down next to her, he drew in a deep breath and sighed.

"Well, that's it. That's everything," he whispered.

"Let's go," she whispered back excitedly. "He's jus' 'bout done." She stood, drew down her hide shirt and lifted Tor to her shoulder. Some rubbing and a few stiff pats to his back had the baby burping and smiling again. With one hand behind his head, Ygritte drew Tor's face close to hers and kissed his cheek.

"May I carry him first?" Jon asked.

"Aye," Ygritte said, passing the baby to him. She helped Jon with the harness, loosening the leather straps and fastening the buckles before placing Tor inside it. With one last look at what had been their home for so many months, the three left the cottage with Ghost in tow.

Having just eaten, Tor dozed in his sling as Ygritte pulled a heavy pack of supplies onto her back. Jon carried a smaller satchel in one hand and picked up Ygritte's bow and spear in the other. When she had her quiver slung over her shoulder, he handed the bow to her. She slid the bow over her as well, the sinew forming a cross over her chest with the leather quiver strap. Then she took her spear in her hand, grinned spiritedly at him, and started off.

Ghost ran past Ygritte, scouting ahead, while Jon was content to fall behind and let Ygritte lead him. He had only ever been in the wilds for a purpose, to reach a destination. Ygritte, however, lived in the wilds themselves. He knew they were not headed anywhere in particular. They would move and camp for a while, then move and camp again. Ygritte was a born wanderer. She would journey wherever she saw fit, and Jon would follow her anywhere. With the current climate of war in the Seven Kingdoms, staying in the cottage would not have been possible forever. Jon knew that, even as he could not help but think they were making a mistake in leaving it behind. _It's just my own nervous uncertainty that makes me think such things. We were no safer staying in that cottage than we are out in the wilds._

He had lost one family and created another. He had given up his identity and reclaimed it. _Strange, how far I've come, and yet I'm not done wandering. If we could find a way to get back north of the Wall, _he mused,_ Ygritte would better know the land. She could find caves for us to hide in. We could go in search of Gendel's children after all… _Getting back beyond the Wall was next to impossible with Tor and Ghost, and he knew that, but he was not giving up on the idea entirely. _Perhaps there are caves that go underneath the Wall, so far down that no one knows of them yet. If they exist, Ygritte could find them._

Ygritte turned to look back at him, smiling brightly. She was in her element completely after just a few short hours of walking. She was as wild as the land, and much as Jon preferred to live in the cottage, no walls would hold Ygritte for long. He would have to learn her ways, _as she learned mine._ What surprised him was that he actually wanted to. _Hopefully, we'll have a lifetime for her to teach me. I don't intend to go my entire life knowing nothing._ He returned her smile, hearing Tor coo behind him.

"My turn yet?" she called, walking backwards as she faced him.

"Nope," Jon said spiritedly.

"You goin' t'carry 'im all day?" she asked jealously, her head canting to the side a bit.

"I'll carry him 'til he cries for you," Jon offered.

"He 'ardly ever cries," Ygritte said with pride.

"He takes after his mother," he said, smiling adoringly at her.

She grinned and turned back around, picking up her pace. "You're so slow!" she sighed. "Move that arse o' yours! I want t'be over that rise come nightfall." She pointed where her instincts were leading her. "Might be we can camp on th'far side some'ere, out o' th'wind."

"I love your mother very much," Jon whispered to Tor, unable to stop smiling at her energetic enthusiasm.

He felt the baby's hands at his hair, tugging gently on his curls as best he could in mittens.

"And I love you, too, little one," he said affectionately. Tor babbled in his own language, warming Jon's heart. "Exactly," Jon agreed, nodding.

Winter would find them wherever they went. Jon was certain of that. He would put everything he had inside him into the protection of their son, and he knew Ygritte would do the same. Ghost would be ever vigilant, whether he was within Jon's sight or not. He did not always see the wolf, but he knew he was there. He could not help but think of his father as he pondered the Stark words. _Winter is coming, for whatever that will mean, father. How will we fare, I wonder? As well as we can. As well as the gods see fit to let us._

"You tired already?" Ygritte taunted him, treating him to another smile. He loved the haughty expression on her face.

"I was just admiring the view," Jon said playfully.

The way she blushed just then was so lovely.

"Mine's much better," she said affectionately, watching Jon carry Tor.

Just then, the baby began to whimper. Whimpering soon became crying. Ygritte stopped and Jon walked to meet her.

"What was that ya said? 'Til 'e cries for me? Seems it's my turn already," she said, eagerly taking Tor. The moment she had him in her arms, he stopped fussing. Tor only cried when he wanted three things: food, attention, or to be cleaned. Once he got what he wanted – or even the promise of it – he stopped his crying suddenly, as if he had forgotten all about it.

"I think someone's hungry again," Jon said as Tor clutched Ygritte's coat tightly. She had to pry his little hand off the furs before she could lift the hide to feed him.

Jon took the large supply pack onto his own back and held on to Ygritte's weapons as she wore the sling in front of her. She nursed Tor as they walked, leaving the sling to hang loosely enough for Tor to manage it. Jon kept pace with her now. He loved to watch his son nurse. There was something beautiful about the bond Ygritte had with the baby when he was at her breast.

Jon thought back to all the stories he had heard as a boy about violent atrocities committed against infants just like Tor. _The Targaryen babe, Prince Aegon, son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, had his head smashed against the stone wall, right in front of his mother._ _He was torn from her breast and killed right then as she watched._ Jon looked down at Tor again. _How could any man see such a sight and desecrate it so obscenely? How could any man take such an innocent life? The Mountain, Gregor Clegane, had done it. Some said he was less a man than a monster. _A painful lump rose in Jon's throat and hot, burning tears flooded his eyes. He blinked them away before they could fall._ Seven hells… I cannot imagine such a thing happening to Tor. I will die before I let anything like that happen to him._

Seeing Jon's interest and emotion, Ygritte drew the hide aside a bit more to allow him to better see the baby's face. She kept Tor otherwise wrapped up and pressed against her, shielding him from the cold. Her hand lay protectively behind his head, and every now and then she smiled at Jon.

"I love you," Jon whispered.

"Me? Or Tor? Who is't you're talkin' to?" Ygritte asked playfully. She already knew the answer. He could tell from her smile.

"Both of you," he said.

"Good answer," she said.

"I envy you when you hold him like that," Jon said.

"Well, you could try drawin' 'im t'your own breast, but I doubt 't'will do much good," she said cheekily, biting her bottom lip a little as she grinned widely at him. "Prob'ly confuse th'hell out o' th'poor 'ungry wee one."

Jon smirked, shook his head, and looked away.

"Don't worry," Ygritte said more seriously now. "He loves 'is father well 'nough." She stopped walking. "An' so do I. When 'e _behaves_ 'imself."

Jon laughed out loud to that. It was not long, however, before all manner of humor left him. He looked up ahead of them, and then back behind. His brow furrowed a bit and he considered their situation. Ygritte noticed and canted her head to the side, watching him.

"Wha's wrong?" she asked.

"Winter is coming," he whispered.

"Aye," she said. "Tormund used to say, 'Two things in life'r certain… death an' winter.'"

Jon said nothing, but only swallowed hard.

"We go as far as we can," she said with conviction.

He lifted his eyes to look at her.

"As far as th'land'll take us. As far as th'gods allow us," she said. "All we can do's all that we can. Th'rest's in th'gods 'ands."

He nodded, even as he drew a deep breath and released it slowly.

"An' if we die, we die," she said, just like she did the day they kissed by the windmill, "but first we'll live. _All_ of us." Her hand still cradled Tor's head, and now her thumb rubbed it, sweetly and gently.

"Aye," Jon whispered, taking her free hand in his and squeezing it. She squeezed back. "First we'll live."


End file.
